Brooklyn: One Rainy Day
by Queen Kez the Wicked
Summary: NOW FINISHED One city. One leader. One feud. Nine stories. One day.
1. One Beginning Ruin

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn

A Newsies fic by Keza: Queen of Procrastination

AN: Yeah, it's a bad title. I couldn't think of anything else! Most of the characters featured are original. There is no self-insertion. There are no Mary Sues (no matter what first impression you get on some of the characters, I promise, NO Mart Sues!). Review, cause it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Plus I need feedback! I haven't written anything serious for awhile. And suggest a title if you'd like.

AN2: Alrighty… Pasty Grimaldi's is an actual pizza place under the Brooklyn Bridge. However, it didn't exist until the mid 1900s. But in my fanfiction world? It existed in 1899. So there. (To make up for this little problem, I'll offer some free advertising. If you're ever in Brooklyn, you MUST go there for pizza! It is the best I have ever had. Classic, original NY pizza. Amazing. End advertisement.)

+

Dawn broke into a thousand jagged pieces, blood red and soft pink mingling to surround an unearthly orange. Peter Morstal sat alone on the docks of the Hudson River, his calloused feet dangling carefree over the edge of the rough planks. Deft hands worked with a bit of wood and a small knife, a tiny figure slowly taking shape. The boy stopped working for a moment and gazed silently at the sunrise, the Brooklyn Bridge blotting out most of the view. The colors were reflected dully in the river's water, distorted by small breakers. The boy looked at his own reflection in the water, face void of emotion. Uneven black hair nearly covered sad brown eyes. An easily seen scar ran down the left side of his face, drawing his lip up into a permanent sneer. A few bruises and a lot of dirt completed the picture.

He pocketed the knife and rose, throwing the sculpted wood at a stray seagull. The gull ducked easily aside and mocked him as it too rose into the air and glided out to find a safer perch. The boy shoved grimy hands into grimier pockets and strode confidently out of the maze of docks, dodging a rope here, jumping over a crate there. He made his way to a broken down building and stopped near the door, splashing his face with cool water from a trough against the wall. The door hung open, barely attached by its hinges. Numerous teenage and younger boys were shuffling out sleepily, yesterday's dust and dirt still plastered to their face and hair. The Brooklyn Newsies' Lodging House. Home sweet home, for some. 

"Ruin."

"Mercy. Ore."

"Heya Ruin! How's it rollin'?" Ore flashed a dazzling smile, quite in contrast to his dark skin. Mercy grumbled something about early risers, which was ignored.

"Alright, Ore. Nice sunrise." 

"I'll bet," Mercy muttered and stalked off. Ore shrugged and dunked his whole head into the trough.

"Whoooo! That's a bit chilly!" he screeched, sputtering water and shaking his dreadlocks furiously. Ruin smiled weakly at the boy's antics and slapped him on the back as he wandered off to Brooklyn's distribution building. 

As usual, Spot Conlon was already present at the gates, leaning against the sturdy bars and arguing with a short, auburn-haired girl.

"I don't have any money to spare for you!" Spot was saying.

"And I know for a fact that you won a bet last night and have plenty!" the girl shouted back. 

"You never sell papes! Why would you want to now?"

"How is that any of your business? All I'm asking for is a loan!" Spot was obviously embarrassed about the conversation developing into a public spectacle. 

"Beth…"

"Uh oh," Ore said quietly, having magically appeared at Ruin's shoulder. "Not a good choice of words…"

"…Excuse me?" the girl's voice suddenly turned quiet and calm. Spot looked bored.

"Beth. You can't keep coming running to me for help! I don't care if it's money problems or relationship problems or job problems or even dangerous problems! I can't be at your back every second. Not anymore. You know that." The girl wasted no time. She slapped Spot across the face so hard that a gull took flight from its position on one of the bars. Spot stood motionless. You don't hit a lady.

"My name. Is Heart," She turned away, thoughtful, and then twisted back around. "And I have never come to you. For anything," Heart walked off, brushing roughly by Ore on her way out. Only when she was out of sight did Spot raise a hand to his cheek and wince.

"Day-nm! That really hurt!" Ruin shrugged. Personally, he thought Spot had it coming. Personally, Spot annoyed the crap out of him. But he wasn't going to say anything. Ore chuckled.

"Beth? Really… You dumbass," Spot glowered. Ore was one of the only ones who could say something like that and get away with it. They both knew it. 

"It's her name, isn't it?"

"It's your funeral," Ore replied, rolling his eyes. 

Other Brooklyn newsies were now gathering, milling around the gates and talking to their neighbors. Mercy shouldered his way to the front, his tall form easily recognized. Following in his wake was Sling, a small blond haired boy who was also Ore's best friend. Sling spit-shook with Spot and nodded to Ruin. 

"Mornin'." Ruin grunted and filed in through the now-open gates with the rest of the crew. "Heyy! Looks like Wood's gonna sell some papes today!" Sling commented, motioning the thug like boy near the back of the line. "That's a new one," Wood was a burly seventeen year old with floppy blonde hair and gray eyes. He was one of Spot's longest and closest friends – they had met up when Wood was nine or ten. He hardly ever sold papers – usually he was watching over Brooklyn for Spot or taking care of other business. Wood hardly ever left Brooklyn, and when he did, it was always with Spot. 

"100 papes, please," Ruin slid one of his last fifty-cent pieces across the counter and grabbed the stack of papers. He was running low on money, it was time to start thinking about finding another job… but Ruin knew that wasn't likely. Spot liked his crew to stay around Brooklyn and watch his back – a suspicious boy, but for good reason. Others were constantly plotting against the leader. Just a few days ago Mouse had picked up a growing threat from the Bronx area. Not a good sign.

Ore and Sling were already standing together, heads bent, scheming up outrageous headlines for the day. 

"Birds attack humans city-wide?"

"Flying carpet found in Harlem?"

"Slingshot stolen from notorious Brooklynder?" 

"Whaa? Oh…" Sling narrowed his eyes and smacked his friend with a paper, then proceeded to sell the same one a few seconds later. "Ehh. Go away and sell your papes!" 

+

Ruin sold about seventy of his papers before making his way to Grimaldi's, a pizza place under the bridge. A smile came to his lips, making his sneer that much more pronounced. He stepped into the restaurant, enjoying all the familiarities of the place – the jazz music playing softly, the small noise the bell made when he walked in, the warm smell of New York pizza, and of course…

"Hey Spin," he greeted the girl at the front of the restaurant, brushing shaggy black hair out of his eyes. 

"Hello, Peter," she answered, accenting his name with lights dancing behind deep brown eyes.

"Pardon me! I guess it's Callie here, eh? Hard to keep track of your jobs. How's your mother?" Callie made a face.

"Alright, I suppose. The nurse is convinced that she needs to raise her rates."

"That's not good."

"Not at all. Here, grab a seat. I'll be with you in a sec," Callie motioned to some people waiting behind Ruin. He nodded and slumped into a chair near the door, sifting through a paper for the 100th time as he tried to find a useable headline. 

"Just grab me a slice?" Ruin pushed some money across the table, but soon found the coins back where they started. Callie closed his hand around the money, her eyes sad.

"It's on the house. We both know you're worse off than anyone in here," she said quietly, winding her way around the tables to the back of the room. Ruin glared at her retreating back, but his gaze softened as he watched her. Nicknamed Spin for her graceful movements and love for dancing, she was an aspiring dancer who was forced to work several jobs to pay the nursing bills for her mother, who was grounded at home after a serious stroke.

A shiver worked its way down Ruin's spine, causing him to tense up. Outside the glass door, he could see two people arguing and motioning towards the building. A few moments later they entered, growled something to Callie, and sat down near Ruin. Ruin raised the paper up, covering most of his face. Every so often he risked a glance at the suspicious duo. One kept looking near the back, where the cash register was located, while the other, much to Ruin's anger, couldn't seem to keep his eyes away from Callie. Callie brought his pizza, flashing a quick smile. Ruin started to warn her about the two, but she was called away before he could say anything.

"Hey Sweets, get us a few slices, will ya?" the second man said loudly, his eyes wandering over her body. Ruin forced himself to take a bite of the food, trying to contain his anger at the man's rudeness. Ruin was easily provoked. Ruin had a horrific temper. Ruin was good with knives. One does not want to get on Ruin's bad side.

Callie simply nodded and moved quickly off, obviously used to the treatment. Ruin wished she wasn't accustomed to it – he didn't know why, but he longed for a reason to attack the strangers. He folded his paper and took a few more bites of his pizza, still eyeing the two. Callie brought the pizza to them, placing it carefully down. The second man moved his hand over hers and looked up into her eyes.

"Thanks…" Ruin made a sound deep in his throat that sounded remotely like growling… Callie removed her hand from the stranger's grasp and looked quickly over at Ruin. The stranger followed her gaze. "Uh huh… And who's this? A little competition?" Ruin's eyes flashed and he made to get up, but Callie moved over swiftly and pushed him back down.

"Don't get yourself into any trouble. I can handle this!" she hissed. Ruin stayed seated but kept his gaze on the stranger, who stared mockingly back. When Callie exited into the kitchen, his friend said something and the stranger followed her. Ruin stood up, but the other man was already looking his way.

"Stay outta it, kid." Ruin sat back down as he caught a glimpse of what the stranger was carrying.

What was he doing with a gun?


	2. Two Mercy

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn

A Newsies fanfic by Keza: Queen of Procrastination

__

(Chapter Two)

AN: Another reminder. I often fail to write in the NY dialect our characters speak so well in. So, while reading this, try to picture the characters talking with that accent. If I remember I'll certainly try to write in that style, but wouldn't that just make it more confusing? Whoops, rambling again. Sorry guys. Oh, and mucho gracias for the reviewers. Yay.

+

So this is what he had been reduced to.

Merry Kolton, alias Mercy. Infamous nineteen year old mercenary living in modern times. Reduced to selling papers for a living. He didn't even have to sell the papers – Spot was paying Mercy a fairly hefty fee just to work for him. But apparently doing penny work like this was all part of "the plan," whatever that was. Mercy supposed doing honest work was a little better than the grunt jobs he was used to. Still, he missed the action and excitement sorely. 

Mercy parted with the other Brooklyn newsies as soon as he paid for his papers and quickly made his way to the end of the Bridge, a selling spot Ore had suggested to him a few days ago. It was a bit windy, but other than that the weather was fair and a good amount of traffic found its way to Mercy and his papers. He had just completed his 50th sale when the wind picked up, and the brunette noticed dark clouds gathering – the wind was blowing towards Brooklyn. 'Fandamntastic,' Mercy grumbled to himself, selling another paper to a hurried man who would most likely use it for a makeshift umbrella than for the news. He shaded his eyes against the disappearing sun and watched the clouds wearily. The air had an aura of familiarity to it – like déjà vu. 

"And shouldn't it?" Mercy said out loud, suddenly recalling the past event. "It's what got you into this whole deal in the first place." A gray squirrel paused on the ground and listened to the mumblings for a moment, then lost interest and promptly forgot what the hell it was doing. It decided to climb a tree instead. "What a classic setting," Mercy continued, voice slipping into an amused tone. Yes, it was just like this… His mind took an involuntary trip back in time...

+venture into the past+

Merry Kolton, alias Mercy, frowned at the approaching storm. It was going to hit hard, he could already tell. Rain, not good. It made the cobblestones much more slippery and perilous, the last thing he wanted for a job like this. 'Nothing blood wouldn't do,' his inner self remarked. He ventured casually from his position at the end of the Brooklyn Bridge and paused a moment to survey his surroundings. 

Hardly anyone was out and about, the storm having long been spotted, discouraging all but the most determined citizens from going outside. 

"I don't care what you do," Silence had reminded him. "Do whatever is necessary. But get rid of Spot Conlon. Do it cleanly, in an abandoned alley. Torture him in front of the whole damned city. I don't care. Just get it done and I'll pay you and you'll be off."

Just another job for Mercy. Just like the countless other ones before it. Blackmail? You got it. Stalking? Sure, why not? Assassination? Just give ol' Mercy a call. Someone needs a little 'talking to?' Mercy's just in the next alley. He was a loner, indifferent to most things. Many viewed him as cold hearted. This was probably true. While working as a mercenary certainly wasn't the cleanest work, it got the bills paid. Oh, it got them paid, and with plenty of money to spare.

The barely-distinguishable sound of a bell quickly retrieved Mercy from his musings. Spot Conlon, a short, skinny boy, emerged from the grocer on the corner, a small bundle of flowers shielded protectively under his arm. 'Right on time,' Mercy thought with a smirk. Whoever was in charge of Silence's spying had done a good job. Ferret, was it? Mercy had never been good with names. He usually didn't have to remember them long.

Mercy adjusted the cap on his head and lowered shocking green eyes, keeping his head down as he followed Spot at a safe distance. He knew the boy was extremely paranoid, as most region leaders are, so he had to be extra careful on that night.

"Keep the slingshot in mind!" Silence's lilting voice rang through his mind unbidden. "You can beat him at close range, but you won't have nothing if he gets the chance to use his sling!" Never mind the fact that his cronies were most likely hiding nearby. Mercy stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled along the cobblestones at a fast walk, easily mimicking a typical person trying to get out of the coming rain. That was basically what he was doing, anyway.

Lucky for him Spot seemed quite distracted that night. Mercy had no doubt in his mind that the flowers he carried were an obvious hint. 'Even tough Brooklyn leaders gotta have their girls,' Mercy chuckled to himself. He walked faster, removing a thin piano wire from one of his pockets as he did so. Spot still seemed oblivious to his presence, although Mercy had gained a sizeable amount of ground on him. Mercy allowed himself to relax slightly. Spot had stopped near the end of an alley and didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings at all. Mercy seized the chance and quickly crossed the remaining space between them, whipping the weighted end of the wire across the front of Spot's neck, catching and crossing the wire and securing Spot's arms behind him before the boy even knew what had hit him.

Or that was how it was supposed to work.

That was how it had always worked in the past. But usually Mercy's victims were unprepared. Spot was exactly the opposite. Mercy groaned inwardly as he felt the prick of a knife at his side. He locked his arms in place, making sure that Spot only had limited movement of his hands and drew the wire a bit tighter. Spot stuck the tip of the knife in Mercy's side, as if to remind him who was in charge. But neither of them were. It was a standoff, a tie. Mercy sneered and kicked the forgotten flowers out from under his feet scornfully. Spot answered by twisting the knife. Mercy countered with a slight pull of the wire.

"Silence?" Spot gasped finally.

"Who else?" Mercy answered, gritting his teeth. It wasn't any secret that Silence was dying to take charge of Brooklyn. It wasn't any secret that he would do anything it took to take Spot down. This included hiring people like Mercy. 

"Bastard," Spot muttered, swallowing painfully. "Probably nice and warm right now too." The rain was really starting to come down. 

"You were prepared," Mercy commented dryly. "Congratulations." 

"I'm always prepared," Spot informed him. Mercy rolled his eyes but said nothing. Spot managed to twist his neck around enough to look up into Mercy's recognizable eyes. "Ah. Mercy. Should have known."

"At your service," said Mercy. Emotion had fled from his voice.

"Working for someone like Silence?" talking was becoming increasingly difficult for the Brooklynder. Mercy considered loosing the wire a bit, but soon abandoned the idea. Not everybody is true to their nicknames. 

"He offers the best price," he said finally. 

"Oh, of course," there was a long pause. "And how much would I have to pay you to stop strangling me?"

"And work for you instead?" 

"Well… If you really felt the need to," Mercy couldn't help but roll his eyes again. Egotistical bastard. But he was in it for the money, not the personal relations.

"More than he's paying me right now."

"And how much is that?" Mercy leaned down, tightening the wire slightly and whispered into his ear.

"WHAT? How the hell am I supposed to meet that?" Mercy shrugged. "Besides, if I were you I wouldn't really be the one trying to cut a deal. It only takes a flick of my wrist to stick this knife through ya."

"And only a flick of mine to stop whatever breath you have left." Another long silence followed this comment, only broken by Spot's rasping breaths. 

"Where the hell is Wood when ya need em?" Spot muttered to himself. Mercy smiled grimly.

"Yes, where are all your friends?" No answer again. Another pause. Spot seemed to be gathering breath. Mercy couldn't blame him. Being slowly choked to death was never a pleasant experience.

"Fine. I'll pay more than Silence," he said quietly.

"How much more?"

"Half."

"Good enough for me," Mercy shrugged again and dropped the wire at the same time that Spot released his hold on his knife. Spot coughed hoarsely for a few moments before doubling over and emptying his stomach. Meanwhile Mercy backed away a few steps and examined his own position, holding the knife in place. Luckily Spot hadn't gone too far in, but it would still bleed a fair amount. He tore of a piece of an already ripped sleeve with his teeth and quickly yanked the knife out, wadding the cloth and pressing it tightly to his side. Spot retrieved his knife and one of the crumpled flowers, smiling wistfully.

"Beth won't care if I was strangled half to death or not, she'll be plenty mad at me for not showing up tonight," Mercy glanced up and started following Spot back to the lodging house.

"So Beth's the girl, eh? Do I know her?" Spot's smile turned sour.

"Probably. Beth Ezran. The Heartbreaker." Mercy's laugh echoed around the small alley, causing him to clutch his side with a grimace.

"Heh heh. Yeah, I know her," he chuckled again. "Know her quite well, in fact." Spot narrowed his eyes and they walked the rest of the way in silence, still wary of one another. 

"So are you gonna tell Silence or not?" he asked as they approached the house entrance.

"Nah. He'll figure it out soon enough."

"Damn. I was looking forward to seeing the look on his face."

"Heh."

+forced back to the present+

'One mistake and you're sellin' papes,' Mercy thought grumpily, the first drops of rain beginning to fall. He decided to change tactics.

"Umbrellas! Penny a piece! Spare a penny and keep yerself dry! Thank you ma'm… UMBRELLAS!"

+

NOTE: I'm almost positive someone is going to be complaining about the whole "standoff" situation. I have two explanations: 1) It's my story, so it works. 2) If you're really concerned about it, say so in a review and I'll try to explain it next chapter. Or something.

Woo! I wrote this whole chapter in one sitting! It's about 1:00am right now. I drank two mugs of Yorkshire tea (really, really, REALLY strong English tea) this afternoon to ensure that I'd be awake, cause I write best late at night. Ouch. Not good for my contacts though. -rubs eyes- erK. So, if your enjoying this, go ahead and check out

http://freewebz.com/wots

That's the site I've been working on for my writing. ANYHOO it's late, I'm rambling, good night. {end self promotion}


	3. Three Heart

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

A Newsies fanfic by Keza: Queen of Procrastination

__

(Chapter Three)

AN: Heyyy ya'll like Ruin! Woo. Ruin. That is the coolest name/word. I really overuse it. It's the name of the annalist (main character) in my Black Company fic too. And my nick on the NML (yeeeah I'm one o' the newbies, ayuh.) And I think it's the name of a mage in the story I'm writing with Abbe… Nevermind.

Reminder: I'm horrible at writing in NY dialect. Or rather, remembering and making the effort to write in it. Sorry.

+

Heart stalked out of the gates, nearly knocking Ore to the ground as she did so. She threw a grumbled apology over her shoulder and cut a clean path through the rest of the newsies. They recognized the mad glint in her eyes. They knew to stay away. A sly chuckled rose uncalled to her lips as she recalled why her hand was still tingling. Ah, she had got the bastard good that time. Heart dropped her head back and let loose a hearty laugh, letting her troubles and worries roll off with the joyful sound. Sling passed by her with an amused expression on his face. She winked at him and he turned red and hurried on behind Mercy. She smiled at the sky, ignoring the threatening clouds off near Manhattan. 'A slap a day keeps the doctor away,' she liked to say. And that theory hadn't been proven wrong yet.

Heart crossed a main street and stopped to study herself in the reflection of a newly cleaned shop window. She rubbed a bit of dirt off of her forehead irritably and quickly finger combed chin-length auburn hair into a more suitable position. A bright smile smoothed out premature wrinkles and certainly made her look a few years younger. Heart straightened her skirt, then continued walking, humming a soft lullaby as she went.

It was a long walk to the school. But worth every step. Heart loved stepping into the well-organized offices, studying plaques on the wall while she carefully listened for whatever snatches of conversation that she could catch. There wasn't much, but she tried to pick up as much information as she could from what went on behind those closed doors. And what did go on? She wasn't sure. Until now, she had only ventured into the school for a few minutes, hurrying out before the secretary could ask her what she needed. But not today. 

Heart tugged on her black skirt for the hundredth time and strode confidently into the tidy brick building.

__

Brooklyn Community Drama Center, read the sign above the door. 

The secretary smiled warmly as she entered. 

"What can I do for you, Miss?" Heart took a deep breath, attempting to control both her nerves and voice.

"I was comin' ta ask about enrollment information," she said, a funny look playing across her face. Well, she had ALMOST kept her crude accent out. The secretary looked her up and down, something that annoyed Heart greatly. 

"Name, dear?"

"Hea… Sorry, Beth Ezran," the name sounded foreign on her tongue. When was the last time she had said it? The secretary frowned slightly at the stumble but jotted her name down all the same. 

"Well!" the woman said brightly. "You're in luck. We do have a few spots open, for night classes. Would that work out?" Heart nodded enthusiastically, words beyond her at the moment. 

"Splendid. If you'd just fill out these forms… I'll go get Mr. Hoysten to come see you."

Heart accepted the papers and sat down in a stiff-backed chair. She began filling out the first one in slow, neat handwriting. This could be her only chance… She had to make it count.

Heart was almost through with the first paper when the door in the back swung open, admitting the secretary and a tall man with jet-black hair and a stern face.

"Let's see what we got," he said with a musical voice. Heart, staring at the papers and gathering her nerves, gasped softly as she heard the voice. She quickly put the papers down and rose slowly, eyes lowered. Mr. Hoysten walked forward and leaned down, grabbing her chin with one hand. "Well, I need to see your face, girl," he said, tilting her chin up. Heart reluctantly met his eyes, which quickly widened with surprise.

"Heart!?"

+ + +

"I don't want to go out tonight."

"Heart, don't be silly!" Dove's teasing voice breathed into her ear as she applied more of the lip paint to Heart's already shining mouth. "Why else would you be in this business? You must go out tonight," Dove stepped back and nodded her approval. "Lovely. Lower your eyes a bit, dear. You know the men like to think you're weak. Like they own you," Dove rolled her eyes, then winked at Heart before disappearing behind a garish curtain into the next room. Heart stared glumly into the mirror opposite her, her usually bright eyes sad.

"I don't feel well."

"Nonsense!" an older woman said firmly as she bustled into the room. She grabbed Heart's chin and forced her too look up. "You're perfectly fine. And you will be going out tonight, just like everyone else." 

Heart shook free of her grasp.

"I tire of this life!" The woman's expression turned soft for a moment.

"You aren't the only one… But a woman must do what she has to to survive." She smiled weakly. "Now be a good girl and finish getting ready. It's a big night… The richest men in the region will be there-"

"Which means good money!" Dove's giggle rang through from the next room. Mary shook her head slightly and left Heart alone. 'Poor child,' she thought. 'Only seventeen, and lowered to this life…'

Heart shifted uncomfortably in the short, skintight dress, picking at the fabric absently. Already she could here the sounds of the party down below, then raucous laughter of drunken men and breathless giggles of the prostitutes. Dove skipped her way downstairs, calling out behind her.

"Come on Heart; let's go find you a MAN!" Heart took one last look into the mirror, and then followed reluctantly. 

Loud music and rowdy dancing blasted into her like an icy wind. Heart shivered and gravitated towards a shadowy corner, seemingly oblivious to the approving glances sent her way. One man in particular couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of her. 

"Jonathon… Hey… John… JOHN!" James slapped his friend lightly, jolting him out of his daze. James chuckled. "They'll be plenty of time for the later, Johnny me boy… Just try to look interested for a few minutes? I'm tellin' a story here!" John stole another glance at the girl, and then cleared his throat, a business like look plastered to his face. James had only seen that look come off once or twice, one of the reasons he had brought his friend along to this party. Johnny needed to have more fun. James shook his head and turned to the rest of the table. "So I'm here, thinking they're talking about the cow, right? And so then I said…" John sighed and tuned out his friend's voice, searching the room again for those blue eyes… 'No, don't tell me I've lost her!' He thought angrily. Oh… 

John's eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of the girl, who was staring right back at him. Shifting awkwardly, he met her gaze, unblinking. Another girl darted up behind her and whispered something, then dodged quickly away to avoid a slap. A shy smile played across the girl's face as she darted back into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

'Acting,' Heart murmured to herself. 'It's a difficult role, but just imagine… You're acting.' She watched the man carefully.

"Hmm… Interesting pick," Mazy appeared at Heart's right shoulder. Heart wrinkled her nose at the thick aura of alcohol that surrounded the girl. She had never enjoyed drinking. "Johnny Hoysten. He's an actor you know," Mazy giggled and slumped against the younger girl. "Stop moving about! You're making me dizzy."

"You're horribly drunk," Heart reminded her.

"All the better. What was I saying? Oh right. So I took a left turn, which led me into some alley, but with golden horses prancing around, ya know? No, there's more – it was a long dream…" 

Heart rolled her eyes and pushed Mazy away, although the woman's words still rang in her head… 'An actor? Maybe this night won't be so bad after all…'

+ + +

Heart swallowed, then put on an innocent face and looked quizzically up.

"Pardon me?"

"…Heart?" John sounded less sure of himself now. Heart laughed softly and shook her head.

"I'm sorry… My name is Beth," she nodded to the secretary, as if for verification. "Beth Ezran. Heart… what a silly name!" John's face fell. He mumbled something and exited the room hastily. Heart's eyes flashed. So much for that plan. She barged through the door right after him, ignoring the secretary's protests. 

"Go teach your granny to suck eggs!" 

That shut her up.

John was standing in the middle of the room with his back to the door when Heart entered. She reached up to tap him on the shoulder (being barely up to his upper arm herself), but he was already turning around. Smiling slyly, he picked her up and kissed her deeply. Eyes widening, Heart yanked her head away and moved her hand to slap him. Sensing this, John freed one arm and caught her wrist.

"That was some nice acting," he admitted. "But you can't hide from me."

"Oh, damn," Heart muttered sarcastically, twisting to free herself from his one-armed grasp. "Put me down! I'm not a doll," John chuckled and lowered her to the floor, eyes never leaving her face.

"You cut your hair," he observed. 

"Yes."

"You grew too."

"No."

"You have a new life."

"Yes."

"You still have the acting bug." Pause.

"Yes."

"Three out of four. Not bad, not bad. How long has it been, two years? Three?"

"I don't know," Heart answered, still glaring. She didn't need this. No, not in the least. "I'm interested in taking classes here," she reminded. "I didn't know you would be here. In fact, I was planning on taking from…" Heart quickly scanned the room, looking for something that would reveal another name. "Hannah. Ms. York." Disappointment clearly shone through John's eyes. She cackled to herself.

"She's new," he said defiantly. "Not too good, I'll have you know." Heart remained impassive, one eyebrow slightly raised. John turned to his desk and took out a pen. "I'll sign you up. Can you tell me how to spell that last name?" She obliged. "And will you be applying for-"

"I have the money," Heart interrupted curtly. "I've been saving," she added quietly. John nodded briefly and wrote a few more notes down.

"Sounds good…" he handed her a small slip of paper. "There's the information. Perhaps I'll see you again soon."

"Perhaps," Heart nodded a goodbye and left the building, waving cheerily to the secretary as she did so. 

Heart smiled at the approaching clouds and walked briskly down the street, hoping she wouldn't be late for her afternoon work._ Ruby's_ was understaffed, and they hated being short even one waitress. Once in the restaurant and changed, she remembered the piece of paper and was about to place it carefully away when she realized she still had yet to read the actual information.

'Beth Ezran, with Hannah York. Tuesdays and Wednesdays, 5:00.' He had signed the bottom. 'Sounds good,' Heart murmured, then noticed the back.

'Bridge Café, tonight. 4:30. My treat.' Her expression turned grim.

"HEART! TABLE NINE NEEDS SOME HELP HERE!"

+

It was pouring by the time Heart left the diner. Grumbling at her luck, she hurried as fast as she could back towards her tiny flat near the bridge. Suddenly she slowed, swiping wet hair out of her face as she frowned at a softly lit window.

'Bridge Café'

the door informed her. Heart peered in through the window. A clock on the wall read 5:10. In the corner, a tall man with black hair was reading a newspaper, his face hidden by the object. Her hand clutched at the note in her jacket pocket. Someone left the café, tantalizing smells revealing themselves swiftly before dispersing into the rain. Heart looked hungrily from the café to the road ahead… and back to the café.

+ + +

Heart turned in the sheets and faced John, eyes still holding a mischievous gleam. He opened one eye and looked her over, a rare smile present on his normally stoic features. He leaned over and kissed her again, the smile never leaving his mouth. Although he had only known the girl for a few hours, no more, he felt strangely attracted to her, in a way he hadn't felt for awhile. Unlike most of the other women he had been with in the past, she was spirited, intelligent, and into acting.

"What's a lady like yourself doing hanging around scoundrels like us?" he asked when they broke the kiss. Heart shook her head.

"You already asked me that," she said softly, one finger tracing its way down his neck. She moved closer for the next word. "Money."

"Oh, yes," John said bitterly. "And how much _do _I owe you?" Heart laughed and told him. He groaned. "How about a simple 'I love you?'" She laughed again.

"You aren't the first to try that. I don't accept that kind of credit." 

"Oh, of course… of course." John climbed out of bed and hopped around the room as he tried unsuccessfully to pull on his pants. Heart watched silently, playing with a pillowcase. 

She was about to leave his flat when he stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. She stopped and looked up into his eyes, shining with earnestness and love.

"I do love you," he said quietly. "Yes. I've only known you for less than a day, but I can't deny the feeling. I love you." Heart removed his hand and started to walk away, then turned back. She traced a heart on his chest, then motioned for him to lean down. He did so, coming to her eye level.

"I love you," she breathed, so quietly John wasn't sure if he had heard right. He looked up for confirmation, but she was already gone.

+ + +

She walked on.

+ + +

And you know, the guy's name was really Christian, and he was actually a writer, not an actor, and… Yeah, I just realized how much Heart is like Satine in Moulin Rouge. 

–groans- I did NOT mean to do that… Damn. The whole (former, in this case) prostitute who wants to become an actress thing… Coincidental. I promise. And Heart won't die of consumption either. Hehehe. I'm not sure if I like this chapter very much, so SEND FEEDBACK! Review. Reviews are like {insert word of choice: ice cream, Newsies, pie, strawberries}. Absolutely necessary and best when covered in whipped cream.


	4. Four Wood

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

A Newsies fic by Keza: Queen of Procrastination

__

(Chapter Four)

AN: Welcome to chapter four… And an extremely big THANK YOOOOOU! To reviewers. Yehaw! I apologize for the lengthiness/partially confusing chapter three. Definitely not one of my best. But this one should be interesting…

Reminder: My characters talk in a New Yawk accent. I just forget to write it in. So keep that in mind.

+

Wood grudgingly parted with a dime and shouldered twenty papers, muttering to himself. Spot chuckled and slapped him on the back as they wound through the masses back out to the gates.

"Relax. It's only for a day or two. You'll be an expert," Spot tried to stay serious, but a smirk crept onto his face all the same. 

"You know how much I hate sellin' papes… You must be doing this purposefully," Wood growled. Spot's smirk grew.

"It builds character. Now get to work, I have to talk with Mouse," he said, motioning to a small, scrawny boy that was hanging at the outskirts of the conversation. Mouse snapped to attention and scurried over. Wood shuddered. Something about the boy positively repulsed him. He did know how Spot put up with the cowardly fool. Apparently he was a good spy, but… 

Wood tipped his hat mockingly and walked off, still uneasy about leaving Spot. As his longest and most loyal friend, he was usually always around Brooklyn's leader… He still was a bit confused as to why he should be selling papers now. 

A large form brushed roughly past Wood, nearly knocking the papers from his hands. He regained his balance quickly and turned to see a tall boy with scruffy black hair disappearing into an alley. His gray eyes narrowed as he recognized the figure.

'Oni…' 

Seeing Wood about to take the bait and follow the larger boy into the alley, Ore quickly left his conversation and slid over.

"Wood, me boy! And how are ya this fine mornin'?" Wood merely grunted, his eyes still fixed on the alley, but Ore managed to steer him the opposite way just in case. Once the alley was gone from Wood's line of sight, he seemed to relax a little. "Hey Wood, I got a favor to ask," Ore said quietly, all humor gone from his voice. That was a rare occurrence. Wood seemed to recognize the seriousness of the issue and decided to get Oni back later.

"Anything," he answered, frowning slightly. What could be wrong? Like most everyone else who had ever met Ore, he had a soft spot for the fourteen year old boy. Horrible fighter as he may be, he was never short of a witty comeback or a joke, something that usually brightened Wood's grim days up considerably. 

"Well… You know me kid brother Samus, right?" Ore's face twisted into a sour smile when he said the name. Wood nodded silently. "He's still at that orphanage… I haven't seen 'em for awhile, so I was thinking of slipping in tonight, ya know?"

"Well sure," Wood said, the frown still present. "But why would you need me? You've seen him plenty of times alone."

"I think they're getting suspicious, the owners," Ore said. "I nearly got caught myself last time. It would just be useful to have another pair of hands there, right?" Wood shrugged, willing to go but still unclear why he was being asked.

"What about Sling?" Ore grinned broadly now and said the next in a deliberately loud voice.

"Sling? Aw, he's on a date with his lover tonight. I wouldn't dream of disturbing that!" Sling glared over and spat in his direction, muttering something that would raise the rating of this story considerably as he did so. Ore chuckled, then turned serious again. "So… Will you?" Wood smiled.

"Sure… But only if you sell these papes for me," he added slyly. Ore shrugged and added the papers to his already looming stack. Known as one of the best newsies in the city, he always had more than a hundred papers - no matter what the headline. And he was never left with more than one or two at the end of the day.

"Why not? Say, I'll meet you near Ruby's around five?"

"Sounds good," there was a long - some might say awkward - pause.

"Hey… Thanks."

"Anytime," Wood nodded a goodbye and stood in the center of the now almost-empty square, now indecisive about what to do next. He remembered the rumors about a threat growing from the Bronx' leader, Lion, and figured he may as well head over to talk to some of Brooklyn's known allies about it… Harlem… Or Manhattan? Manhattan. He hadn't seen Racetrack for awhile, and the lousy bastard owed him some dues. 'Fool,' he chuckled to himself as he started walking to the bridge. 'Actually believed Ruin and Spin would stay apart…'

+

"Alright, Wood?" a small black boy swung down from the Horace Green statue.

"Hey Boots. Alright," Boots grinned.

"You must want Race."

"Haha. Find him, will ya? Oh, and Jack too."

"Jack's out selling with David."

"Huh. Then bring Davey over as well."

"Sure," Boots dropped off the statue and hurried off. Wood hung his hands in his pockets and wandered around the square, nodded hellos to a few of the familiar Manhattan newsies. For reasons still unknown, Spot had agreed to help them in a strike about six months back. They still remained allies. Peaceful as the boys were, Wood was glad for their help. Davey – now there was a smart boy. Davey was also the only boy that didn't get along with Ore. Wood grinned to remember their last encounter – insults and comebacks were flying left to right, but the fight never got physical. It boggled the mind. 

A few minutes later Jack Kelly swaggered over, followed closely by David and Race at a distance – the boy was trying to light a cigar, but wasn't having much luck due to the slight drizzle developing. He spotted Wood and groaned.

"Don't tell me… They're married now, aren't they? I know it. They're married," he said, giving up on his cigar and walking forward to join him. Wood grinned again.

"Close. Pay up." Race grumbled something unintelligible and dug in his pockets, finally pulling out twenty five cents. "Don't spend it all in one place," he called over his shoulder as he made his exit before Wood could entice him into another bet. Jack eyed him from under his cowboy hat.

"'Ey Wood. What's the word from Brooklyn?"

"We're doin' fine, Jacky. Seems we may have a little problem growing in the Bronx, however." Jack frowned.

"They helped us in the strike," he said.

"Yeah, well, that was awhile ago. Lion took over a few months back. He and Spot aren't on the best of terms to begin with, and when Jeremiah was found dead-"

"He died?" Davey now. Wood sighed.

"No, he just handed his reign over to Lion. Of course he died! But now Lion's got everyone convinced that WE killed Jeremiah…"

"Did you?"

"NO!"

"Jeez. Sorry," Wood turned his attention back to Jack, who, while not as smart as David, sure wasn't as ignorant. 

"So you hearing anything about this?" Jack shook his head.

"Nothing except about Lion taking over. I didn't know Jeremiah was dead," he paused. "Crutchy hasn't been walking too good, and he usually runs over to the Bronx for us." Wood liked Crutchy.

"Listen… If he does get back on his feet, I wouldn't suggest he go over there anytime soon. I know Jeremiah liked him well enough, but Lion… He's a totally different story." Jack nodded. 

"I'll remember that," Jack stopped again, studying Wood's face intently. "We're behind you," he said finally. Wood smiled and ran a hand through his floppy blonde hair, a trait he had picked up from Ruin. He said nothing, but spit into his hand and held it out. Jack did the same and they shook, then Wood turned to David. He shrugged and spit-shook as well.

Wood wiped rain off of his pocket watch and squinted at the blurry face.

"Well boys, as much as I'd enjoy staying behind, I have to get back. Take care." He tipped his hat to the boys, waved cheerily to Race and left, shoulders hunched over in the rain. If he walked fast, he may just make back to Brooklyn in time.

+

Wood shook his head as he entered Ruby's, sending water flinging everywhere. Ore immediately spotted him and stood, abandoning his last newspaper at the table. 

"Hey Wood. Where ya been?"

"Manhattan," Ore heard this and his smile twisted evilly.

"Oh yeah? How's me pal Davey?" Wood smiled.

"He's missin' ya sorely."

"Good. Ready?"

"Of course. And if you're waiting for the rain to stop, I've got bad news for ya…"

"Hell with the rain."

+

I love Ore. –pats Ore on the head– Ore wants you all to review this story. Remember: reviews are like peanut butter. My puppies love them and they taste good with fluff.

…

See, that would be a really good pun if I was writing a fluff story… Get it? Peanut butter and fluff… Reviews are like peanut butter… Fluff fanfictions… Hmph. Well, I think it's funny.


	5. Five Sling

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

A Newsies fic by Keza: Queen of Procrastination

__

(Chapter Five)

AN: I'll try to update sooner, I'll try! And don't worry Sophie, I have plenty of plans for your character… BWAH HAH HAH. Dhyanabahd to all reviewers! You all deserve… Um… Something good.

Reminder: All characters featured in this story do have heavy New York accents. The problem is, I'm horrible at remembering to write in them. So keep that in mind.

+

Sling sighed and combed his hair flat again, watching with dismay as is refused to obey and bounced right back up. He glared into the dirty mirror, daring his reflection to mock him again. Instead he saw Spot mock him from behind. He didn't turn around, but continued attacking his hair and made eye contact with the Brooklyn leader through the mirror. Spot remained silent and amused.

"It's not going to work," he observed. "And you'd better hurry up if you want to meet her in time. It's getting late. And cloudy. And some boys might be coming down for a little game of poker…" but Sling was already out the door. Spot smirked. The threat never failed. Sling was infamously horrible at poker, yet he always managed to get himself lured into games, therefore losing large sums of money. Spot wandered into the main bunkroom and collapsed onto a random bunk, skillfully shuffling a deck of cards. A few minutes later Watch clomped up into the room, followed by several newsies from around Brooklyn and Manhattan. 

"Where's Racetrack?" Spot asked, halfway concerned. The short Italian was never one to miss a card game. A tall newsie by the name of Pie-eater took the liberty of answering this.

"He says he's sworn off betting," he explained with a twisted smile. "Maybe you should talk to Wood about it."

+ + +

Sloan rolled a marble around in his fingers, studying the nail intently. Completely motionless save his hands, he fit the marble securely into the elastic of his sling and considered his target again. To his left, someone coughed quietly, and another scuffled his foot impatiently. Both were quickly shushed. Sloan whirled the crude piece of wood around once, caught hold of the marble, drew back, sighted, and released in the next two or so seconds. The marble hit and ricocheted off the nail with a sound _cling! _Sloan's formally stoic features erupted into a huge grin as the boys gathered recovered from their amazement and began cheering. His competitor, a boy three years older, closed his eyes in dismay but spit shook with Sloan anyway. 

"Wow," he said, leaning close to Sloan to be heard over the din. "I'd accuse you of cheating if it was possible!" Sloan winked good-naturedly and the older boy laughed.

"You owe me," Sloan pointed out.

"I knew there was a catch…" other bets were being paid off as the crowd slowly dispersed. Many kids were making vows about ever voting against Sloan again. In the few months the thirteen-year-old boy had been in Brooklyn, he had competed in nine such contests. He hadn't lost any. One bold boy ventured an opinion that he could even beat Spot Conlon, a boy with the most reputed shot in Brooklyn. Sloan had never met Spot, but he had heard enough about him. He knew Spot was a newsie – a kid who sold newspapers to the public, and he knew that many people thought Spot would gain control of Brooklyn before long. At the moment a kid by the name of Lens reigned, but most doubted he would last. 

Sloan didn't work as a newsie; rather, he survived off of the money he won from slinging competitions and begging. It was hardly a way to live, but Sloan felt it was certainly better than living with his father, which he had done until he ran away to Brooklyn. 

A hushed silence fell over the remaining crowd, causing Sloan to freeze in place. Debt, his aptly named competitor, froze as well, staring at something over Sloan's shoulder. 

"Finished selling early today, Debt?" An arrogant voice rang out. Sloan shivered involuntarily. Debt licked his lips nervously.

"I didn't take too many, Spot," he said quickly.

"Apparently not. And it looks like whatever you did make is already gone."

"Well…" Debt had nothing to say to this. It was true – his selling money was now in Sloan's hands. Spot strode over and tapped Sloan on the shoulder with his cane.

"I don't know how you got it kid, but give it back," Debt looked relieved. Sloan groaned inwardly. _There goes my dinner,_ he thought. "Kid. Look at me. Hey, who is this? He isn't a newsie, is he?" Sloan looked up and shook his head silently. "Eh. Just a street rat," Sloan bristled at this last comment, despite it being true. Not that Spot was much better, of course. "So how'd you lose your money today, Debt?" Spot smirked at the unfortunate newsie.

"He, uh… Beat me with a sling…" 

"What? This can't be a good sign. One of me best slingin' boys beat by…" he motioned distastefully to Sloan. "Kid, you know we don't like cheaters around here…"

"I didn't cheat!" Sloan growled. Spot looked startled. 

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't cheat!" Sloan stood up now, fully pissed. "A I won that money fairly. I should be allowed to keep it." Murmurs swept through the crowd at the kid's boldness. Sloan was surprised himself. What was he doing??? But Spot just looked amused.

"So, kid, you think you're good?" Sloan shivered again, and then before he knew what he was doing, nodded. 

"Hah!" Spot's smirk grew. "Well then, why don't we have a little contest, just you and I?"

"Alright," Sloan agreed, a bit surprised he could talk. Debt gaped. Many others followed his example.

"Debt," Spot ordered. "Find a target. Something good." Debt hurried off. Sloan fished around in his pockets for the black marble – his perfect shooter, the one he had found on the docks and saved for weeks. Debt returned a few minutes later, carrying two more nails with small heads. He and another boy nailed them halfway into a post, one a couple inches above the other. 

Spot sighted on the top nail, stretching the elastic back to its farthest point and squinting at the target. Sloan watched silently. Spot released his hold. The marble hit the edge of the nail's head so hard, a small spark was seen. The gathered boys cheered valiantly. Spot turned with a triumphant smirk to watch Sloan. Sloan studied his shooter for a moment more, and then sighted his own slingshot on the bottom nail. A second later he fired. The marble hit the nail dead center with a thud, then dropped straight to the ground. The nail was driven a half an inch more into the wood. Nobody breathed. Spot stared, then lost his composure and punched Sloan in the face. Sloan staggered back, holding his nose in an attempt to stop the blood and swung out his other fist in a mad rage. Spot caught hold of his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, kneeing him in the stomach at the same time. Sloan collapsed backwards and curled up into a ball on the ground. But no more hits came. Instead, Spot began to laugh quietly. He offered his hand to Sloan, who took it cautiously. 

"I just wanted to make sure slinging was the only thing you could beat me at," Spot explained. Sloan rubbed his stomach and failed to see the joke, but smiled weakly all the same. Spot grabbed his hand and raised it up, turning back to the crowd. "Well? What are you waiting for? He's the winner, let's hear it!" The crowd instantly obeyed. Sloan grinned. "Hey, what's your name, kid?" Spot asked.

"Sloan."

"No it isn't."

"Uhm… Yeah, it-"

"Your name is Sling now. And you're gonna be great for me."

"Am I gonna be a newsie?"

"Why not? It's better than begging." Sloan smiled again.

"Alright."

+ + +

Sling wrung the water from his cap and then pulled the sodden garment back onto his head, cursing the weather. He hoped Katie would show up. The last thing he needed that day was to be stood up. He fingered the assortment of coins in his pocket, money he had saved up to be able to buy dinner for his date. Sling took a turn into the next alley and hunched his shoulders forward, walking at a faster pace now. His right hand automatically reached down to rest on his slingshot, but even this wordless reassurance did nothing to help the growing unease he felt. 

A stone's throw from the main road he froze, hearing someone drop to the ground behind him. The rain did nothing to muffle the sound of two more figures approaching him. All three wore some sort of mask, and so did the three that joined them. Sling swallowed and backed against the nearest wall, his slingshot out – although that would do nothing at such close range. More figures came into view, quickly surrounding him. Sling gritted his teeth and forced words out.

"Who… Who are you?" Nothing but a mocking laugh answered him. 

"See how powerful Spot's newsies is when we gets them alone," another sneered. A few chuckles agreed to this comment. Fear rose up in Sling's throat. The Bronx… It had to be them. Mouse had been reporting threats and suspicions from the Bronx for a few weeks. _What is Lion trying to accomplish? _Sling asked himself feverently, but didn't dare say anything out loud. He caught sight of one of the boys shaking rain off of a short knife and closed his eyes.

"So this is what it comes down to," he mumbled under his breath. "Murdered in an alley, twenty yards from salvation, by someone you never even knew," Sling reached in his pocket for a marble. One of the figures growled.

"Don't even think about it, kid. We know who you are."

"The same goes for you," a new voice interrupted. 

+

Wrote most of this on the way back from UVM. At the moment it's 6:48 and I'm typing this in the car. Yup. Stole my mummy's laptop this time. Hehe. ErK. Hope this chapter didn't suck too much. Most of the stuff happening – in ALL the chapters – will come together in the very end, so just be patient. Oh, and review. Please. I'd be on my knees begging you to review, but I'm kind of strapped to my seat at the moment. Buckle up! J 


	6. Six Spin

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

A Newsies fic by Keza: Queen of Procrastination

****

AN: Ark! It's been more than a month… I had the biggest writer's block. Chapter six is finally here though… Please review! They help a lot. Thanks to Falco for beating me on the head with a keyboard… Wait… Huh? Oh well, at least it made me write. 

****

AN2: Oh, and Callie and Spin are the same person. I just use her real name a lot in this chapter. Spin is her nickname. Yeah.

+

"Are you mad?!" Callie's eyes flashed angrily. "Surely your work is getting easier, if anything!" The nurse, an old broad of sixty or so, looked down her nose at the girl.

"Young lady, it would be best for you to keep in mind the scarcity of willing nurses and-"

"Is that a threat?" The nurse's eyes snapped open and her gaze sharpened considerably. She opened her mouth to speak, but was again interrupted – this time by a slamming door. She began to move, but was called back by a feeble voice from the adjacent room. Her face softened slightly, and she returned to tend to her patient. 

Callie carefully counted out the nurse's wages and laid them neatly on the table outside of the door. The nerve of the woman! To raise her wages when she knew quite well that Callie was working numerous jobs in an attempt to support her mother? Callie sighed. Money was disappearing even faster now. It had been months since she had received money from Robert, her older brother who had ventured off west in search of his fortune. 

Pulling her brown hair back with a tie, Callie mentally reviewed the day's schedule. _The Motel until 11:30. Grimaldi's until 7:00. Pick up that parcel by 8:00… _Her face brightened with this last thought. She slipped on her heavy coat and stepped out onto the street, humming a song she had heard recently and moving her feet to the beat. Her mother's old friend Frieda apparently had something she wanted Callie to deliver. Callie was constantly in awe of the old woman, who was formally a professional dancer. 

"'Ey Spin!" a cheery voice greeted Callie as she neared the motel. She turned, answering to her nickname automatically.

"Hey Sling. How's Katie?" the said boy flushed a few shades darker and quickly darted away. Callie laughed – ah, the joys of adolescence… 

+

The motel had been hell.

Her least favorite job, luckily it was only two days a week. Callie released a huge sigh as she stepped into Grimaldi's, where everyone was just setting up for the day. 

"Hey," another worked by the name of Sandy passed by and squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. Callie smiled weakly and dropped her coat in the back room. She fixed her hair and tried on a smile… It didn't fit quite right, but it would work. She returned to her accustomed place at the front of the restaurant and fiddled with a few menus idly. Outside she could see Ruin selling his papers, and a genuine smile rose to her face. This meant he'd be coming in today… She hadn't seen him in awhile. Then a customer came in and she went to work…

+

"Hey Spin," Ruin greeted her as he came in, a large bundle of papers still under his arm. Headline must not be too good.

"Hello Peter," she answered mockingly.

"Pardon me! I guess it's Callie here, eh? Hard to keep track of your jobs. How's your mother?" Callie sighed and shook her head.

"Alright, I suppose. The nurse is convinced she needs to raise her rates," she made a face, remembering the morning's ordeal.

"That's not good," Ruin stated, holding her gaze steadily. Callie flushed.

"Not at all. Here… Grab a seat, I'll be with you in a sec," she said quickly, nodding to the couple behind him. He found the nearest table to her and dropped his papers in one of the chairs, then sat back to go through one of them. Callie found a table for the couple and turned back to Ruin.

"Just grab me a slice?" he pushed a few coins across the table. Callie looked down, then shook her head slightly and put the money back where it came from. 

"It's on the house," she said quietly, then added "We both know you're worse off than anyone in here." She winced inwardly as she said this last comment and hurried away. Stupid! She could feel Ruin's gaze glaring at her back as she left – she should've known not to say something stupid like that…

"Hey!" Callie finished relaying the order and glanced back at the voice. Two crude men waited near the door. Probably drunk, despite it being barely past noon. Callie returned to her post and raised an eyebrow at them.

"You can… Seat yourselves," she reminded them, handing out menus. One grunted something and they found another table near the door, close to Ruin. She brought Ruin's pizza out, seeing his troubled look and smiling as if to reassure him… But of what?

"Hey Sweets, get us a few slices, will ya?" one of the men barked. Callie ignored his wandering gaze and retrieved their order. She slid the slices onto the table, trying to stay as far away from the disgusting men as possible. The second one caught her hand as she turned, and finally brought his eyes to her face. 

"Thanks…" Callie heard Ruin make some sort of strangled growl and groaned inwardly. She slipped her hand from the stranger's grip and glanced over her shoulder at Ruin, hoping he wasn't doing anything stupid. Unfortunately, the stranger followed her gaze. He smirked. "Uh huh… And who's this? A little competition?" Ruin was boiling now. Callie swept over to him and made sure he stayed in his seat.

"Don't get yourself into any trouble!" she hissed, glaring at him. "I can handle this!" She moved away and took another order, grateful for the excuse to disappear into the kitchen. Too… Much… Stress…

"Stay outta it, kid," she heard the voice faintly come from the dining area, and turned to see what was happening. A man blocked her view – he grabbed her arm and forced her back around and towards the exit in the back. His other hand quickly stifled her protests. Callie's eyes widened and she struggled valiantly, but his grip was strong and she soon found herself being dragged along. Muffled voices sounded from beyond her vision, Callie tuned them out and braced herself for what was to come next. But what _would_ happen now?

The stranger pulled her through the mysteriously empty kitchen and out the rarely used exit in the back. He shoved her roughly against a wall in the desolate alley. She stumbled over some loose trash and tried to make herself a small as possible as he looked her over hungrily. Callie tried to hold back a whimper and failed, feeling ashamed as she cried softly. The man just smirked. Inside the restaurant she could hear faint shouts, crashes, the bell on the door ringing furiously. A shot was fired, and there was a moment of utter silence before the screaming started. One of the back cooks burst out into the alley, panicked, and started babbling as he ran towards Callie. She found she couldn't speak, couldn't get a word of warning out before the stranger smashed the back of his head. The cook collapsed instantly, and then the stranger was there, this time picking her up and carrying her farther into the maze of streets. 

A thousand emotions clouded her mind, fear, pain, worry… She was beginning to feel nauseous as the stranger's hand inched farther up her skirt than was needed to carry her. Twisting viciously, she elbowed him as hard as she could behind his ear and was rewarded with a curse and the cold pavement as he dropped her. Callie quickly rolled away and stood shakily, meeting his glare for a second. 

In the distance a door slammed, and footsteps were heard sprinting towards them. The stranger's eyes widened, and for the first time Callie felt a twinge of hope.

It began to rain.

+

Callie's heart was crushed - along with her chances of escaping - as the footsteps revealed themselves to be the stranger's friend. In one hand he carried a gun. Callie remembered the shot, then remembered Ruin and his temper. She squeezed her eyes shut. The two men held a muttered conversation while fearful sobs wracked her body. A few moments later she was grabbed roughly by the arm. Callie forced herself to open her eyes, and studied her captors. Probably late 20s, early 30s. Unshaven, smelly, utterly repulsive. Studying her right back. She was all too aware of what the rain was doing to her thin clothing. 

The now steady rain failed to muffle the sound of the back door slamming, and Callie again found herself being dragged along through the alleys. The gathered clouds had allowed for a premature darkness, and Callie could only pray that the approaching noise was salvation…

+

Running full out now, hair plastered down, sharp pains present at his side. Ruin rounded a corner, thinking to take a short cut through the nearest alley. As he reached the mouth and looked in, however, his surprised feet skidded to a stop and almost toppled him over. 

At the far end of the alley, a street lamp held three silhouettes. Two larger forms standing on either side of a smaller, struggling form. Ruin opened his mouth to shout her name, but silenced himself as the shadows moved.

__

Shadows don't move.

Deep into the alley, several figures surrounded a smaller boy, who was crouched against a wall. A faint light glinted dully off of the blade belonging to the boy closest to Ruin. Muttered voices were talking, the actual words indiscernible. But then a clear voice, from a different source, rang out.

"The same goes for you."

Ruin searched around him wildly, saw nothing and looked up. 

__

Someone was on the roof…


	7. Seven Ore

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

****

AN: Oh gawd, I did it again! More than a month since my last update. Gahh! But now it's Christmas break, so I'm going to try and… and… _finish_ it! The whole story! Oh boy! Ok, enough with the crap, can we get onto the writing?

Chapter Seven: Ore.

+

'Like a big wet dog,' Ore mused as he watched Wood enter the restaurant and shake his head madly, trying to get the water out of it. Ore stood and dropped his paper.

"Hey Wood. Where ya been?"

"Manhattan," he answered simply, glancing around at the place's occupants. Ore smirked.

"Yeah? How's me pal Davey?"

"He's missin' ya sorely," Wood replied with a slight smile.

"Good." A pause. "Ready?" Ore rubbed at his temple, a sort of a nervous gesture.

"Of course… and if you're waiting for the rain to stop, then I've got bad news for ya…"

Ore shook his head and moved around Wood, then opened the door and turned back.

"Hell with the rain."

He walked out before he could catch Wood's expression or reply. 

Wood caught up with his friend quickly. 

"A lot of the Manhattaners didn't know about Jeremiah," he remarked as they wove through the maze of streets. Ore stayed silent for a moment, thinking about the Bronx's old leader.

"Know how he died?"

"Nope."

"Train. Jumping onto one, missed it. Bam - cut in half. Someone pushed him, or something. Or, maybe… maybe he just lost his balance."

Wood scoffed. "Lost his balance? I doubt that. He must have been pushed - probably by Lion."

Ore shrugged. "It's just a theory. It _does_ happen." 

"So now you're sticking up for Lion?"

"What? No! I'm just saying that it might not have been Lion's fault."

Silence.

"Never mind, ok?"

"Yeah, ok. So where are we headed?" Thanks to the dark and the rain, Wood was thoroughly lost.

"St. John's orphanage. It's like the refuge, but with nuns," he added bitterly.

"Not very nice nuns, eh?" Wood smirked to himself. 

"Naw. Not very nice anything," Ore agreed, then fell silent. Though not used to his friend being so quiet for so long, Wood took the hint and said no more. 

Ore had been to the orphanage a large number of times to visit his kid brother, and he had had a good amount of chance to break him out too - but he could never do it. No matter how much he wanted to rescue his brother, the streets were too dangerous for a boy of just eight. Never mind the fact that Ore had been only a year older when he lived out on the streets, telling stories and begging for what little money he could. The first few years, Samus was in a foster home, and everything was just fine. The foster parents even let Ore visit him, no questions asked. Then he had been moved to St. John's, and everything had changed. Ore had been seen a fair number of times by the advisors, and almost caught a few times as well. This wouldn't be too bad, except for the fact that the advisors knew he was homeless. They would take any chance they could get to snatch him up and stick him in the very place he wanted to stay away from. He had Brooklyn's lodging house. But they would never understand.

Not only this, but the last time Ore had snuck in, Samus had admitted to being picked and beat on by some of the older boys. Because of his color and timid nature, he was the perfect scapegoat. Ore fumed about this, but could do nothing. Going to visit him now, with the risks involved, made Ore uneasy - and the rain did nothing to brighten his mood.

"Uh, Ore? This it?" Wood spoke up, awkwardly tapping him on the shoulder. Ore broke out of his reflective trance and glanced at the said building.

"Yeah. Thanks." They paused a moment to survey the forbidding brick building, and wrought iron fence. The latter was clearly more for decoration than to keep anyone out - or in.

"So, do you know where he is in this maze?" Wood asked as they climbed swiftly over the fence. 

"Ah, one of the boy's rooms up there," Ore said, motioning vaguely. "We'll use the back door," he added. Wood stayed doubtfully silent. "Trust me. They should be eating dinner about now. We can enter in the back and sneak up to the room. Then they have twenty free minutes after dinner, which is when the kids will return to the room - Samus included. Don't worry, the other boys won't snitch. Anyway, outside the window is a tree. That's where we escape from." 

"Right…. Ore?"

"Yeah?"

"If I mess this up for you, please don't kill me."

Pause.

"Sorry, I can't promise that." 

Wood followed the boy around the back, troubled by the fact that his voice had been deadly serious.

"This has been strangely easy."

"Shh!"

"Sorry!" Wood hissed. They were crouched behind a bunk, waiting for the occupants of the room to come up once their dinner was over.

"I see what you mean," Ore said quietly after a moment. "But it's to be expected. This isn't like the refuge, they don't have guards or anything." 

Wood grunted in agreement. The sound of many pairs of feet tromping up the stairs could be heard. A few moments later, the door opened to admit a variety of boys, all between the ages of seven and eleven. Wood and Ore stayed still. Samus came in last, and made his way to the back of the room dismally. Ore glanced at Wood, and they moved off behind him. Hearing footsteps, Samus turned quickly, then his face broke into a mile-wide grin. Ore wore one to match it. Samus ran to tackle his brother, then broke away for a moment.

"You haven't come for awhile," he said in a scolding voice. Ore's near-black eyes flashed mischievously. 

"Well, I don't see you coming down to the Lodging House for a visit!" he countered. "How're things?" 

"Ok," Samus shrugged neutrally. He glanced at Wood and the grinned returned. "Are you gonna break me out this time?" Ore looked away from the hope shining in his brother's wide eyes and shook his head. 

"Why would we break you outta here? You have food, a bed to sleep in - every night. You have friends, you're learning math, and reading, and-"

"Speaking of friends," Wood spoke in a low voice. "Is that kid that just ran outta the door your friend?" he looked nervous. Samus ran around them and peered out the door.

"Justin. Shit!" he squeaked.

"Samus," Ore said. "Watch your mou-"

"Justin's gonna snitch on you!" Samus interrupted. A few of the other boys rolled their eyes, or shook their heads. Nobody liked a snitch. Wood looked around the small space frantically, while Ore just sighed. 

"Guess we have to leave a bit earlier than expected," he grumbled to Wood, then swept Samus up into a huge bear hug. "Gonna be alright, kiddo?" Samus squirmed until he was let down.

"Yeah. 'Course." 

Angry heels clacked up the stairs.

"Ore!" Wood said in a panicked voice from across the room. "The window's jammed!"

+

"Samus!" 

Samus stood tall and looked straight ahead.

"Yes Ma'm."

"Justin tells me he saw two older boys, not from this orphanage, inside this very room. He says you were talking to them."

Samus stared stubbornly forward. No eye contact.

"I didn't see them, Ma'm." The advisor searched the room quickly. In a matter of seconds she had Justin by the ear. 

"Another of your lies, Mr. Foley?" she spat. Justin trembled.

"I saw 'em! One was Samus's brother!"

"I don't have a brother, Ma'm," Samus said blandly. None of the other boys spoke up in defense or protest. The advisor was about to storm out, dragging Justin along with her, when something caught her eye. A shard of glass.

"Boys. How long has that window been broken?"

+

"What's going to happen with Samus and the window?" Wood asked breathlessly as they jogged down a main street. It was getting darker and darker, and both wanted to be back as soon as possible. 

"He's a smart kid," Ore replied. "He'll think of something! Here, shortcut!" The duo turned into an alley, then froze.

"Hear that?" Wood whispered. Faint talking omitted from the way. Ore nodded. He recognized a voice. Someone approached, running, from behind, and they quickly stepped out of sight and into the shadows.

"Is that Ruin?" Ore murmured the question as quietly as he could. What was Ruin doing out late?

Ruin froze as well, staring fixedly at something in the distance. Wood took a few steps out to see for himself - at the far end of the alley, he spotted three silhouettes in the light of a street lamp. The rain cloaked most sound, but not Ruin's worried whisper.

"_Spin…_" 

Wood tried anxiously to see what else was happening. More muffled noise was heard, and he recognized another figure - was that…?

Sling. Surrounded.

Wood backed up quickly. "Ore."

"Hmm?"

"Go find Mercy."

"Why? Wh-"

"Just do it! I dunno, try the Lodging House or something… but you gotta find him, and bring him back here." Ore nodded doubtfully, then ran off in the opposite direction. If there was a fight, there was no way he was getting involved. 

"The same goes for you," a voice said, louder and clearer than the rest. Wood saw Ruin look up, and copied his movement. Someone on the roof? He stepped forward and tapped Ruin lightly on the shoulder. Before he could get a sound out, he found himself in quite a bad position. Knife poised at his throat, and Ruin's sneer staring him in the face.

"Dammit, Ruin! It's just Wood," he snapped. Ruin paused, then took down the knife and stepped back.

"Don't do that," he said quietly. No questions asked. No 'what are you doing here?' or 'where have you been?' That was just Ruin's way.

"What are we going to do about this?" Wood asked, motioning to the alley. "I just sent Ore to find Mercy," he added. Neither had entered yet, and the talking was beginning to get louder. The silhouettes had disappeared. Ruin noticed.

"Damn. I gotta get Spin," he told Wood, looking him in the eye.

"Sling is out there!" Wood protested, a little too loudly. The talking ceased. Wood gulped. The figure on the roof took advantage of the situation, and a painful yelp from below was heard. 

"Slingshot," Ruin said. "See, you won't be the only one. You have Sling, and that's probably Spot up there. Now, I _have to find Spin!_" 

"Fine!" Wood spat. 

"I'll come back," Ruin assured him over his shoulder as he jogged off. Wood sighed, then stepped into the alley, praying he wouldn't get hit by a stray stone.

+

Ore ran smack into a familiar figure near the bridge. Familiar, but he couldn't place a name to the face… it was a Manhattan newsie, he knew. 

The figure picked himself up, then gave Ore a hand up as well. 

"Alright, Ore?"

"Fine. Damn, you were running fast. I didn't even notice - ohh…." The name finally came to him. "Swifty?"

"Yeah," Swifty confirmed, looking eager to be on his way. But Ore wasn't about to let him go just like that.

"Where are you headed? What's happening?"

"Manhattan," Swifty replied impatiently, nodding to the bridge. "Spot sent me to get some of the newsies there to come and help. Apparently you guys are under attack," he said. 

"Under atta- what?" Swifty shrugged.

"We were just playing poker, and some scrawny kid comes in and tells Spot that the Bronx is attacking. Pie-eater, Snoddy, Skittery, Mush - they're all with Spot now." 

"Scrawny kid…. Mouse?"

"I guess."

"Who are you going to get?"

"Jack, Blink, some others…." He trailed off, giving Ore a pointed look.

"Sorry to keep you! Thanks!" Ore watched as Swifty picked up his sprint and went off down to the bridge. Then he resumed his own journey to the lodging house.

+

"Mercy!"

Mercy paused at the sound of his name and glanced over his shoulder. Ore caught up to him and leaned against the lodging house wall, breathing heavily. Mercy grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face him. 

"What? What?" he asked worriedly. 

"Bronx… Spot… alley… fight… Manhattan… helping… Wood-"

"Wood and Spot are fighting the Bronx in an alley while we wait for Manhattan to come help?" Mercy guessed quickly. Ore nodded weakly. Ever ready for some action, Mercy's immediate question - "can you take me there? No? Directions then?" Ore nodded again and worked on regaining his breath for a few more seconds.

"Side street off of Lower Bridge… the one across from Eddie's?"

"I know it," Mercy interrupted, then disappeared inside. Ore followed and collapsed onto the nearest bunk. Mercy emerged a minute or two later sporting a new addition to his wardrobe. 

"Nice scarf," Ore remarked. "Don't think it's gonna keep ya warm though."

"Ha," Mercy smirked on his way out. "If anyone else comes in, tell 'em where to go." 

"Right," Ore agreed, already scheming up an excuse for Mr. Montgomery. The head of the lodging house would probably be curious about all the missing boys.

+

Wood had one chance to use his 'element of surprise.' He grabbed a stray board leaning against the wall and used that chance to take out the nearest boy - a smack in the back of the head and he dropped like a fly. He used the remaining few seconds he had to scan the boy's face. _Doesn't _look _like anyone from the Bronx, _he mused. _Lion probably brought in new people,_ another part of his brain reminded. 

Alerted by the hard to miss 'thwacking' sound of the board, some of the other boys took notice of the Brooklynder. One shouted something, and two others advanced towards him. 

Stones continued to rain down, but not as heavily. One of the attackers had found his way onto the rooftop, and it wasn't long before someone "lost their balance." Wood heard a sickening crunch, followed by a groan of pain, and he shuddered involuntarily. _What are these people doing? _He noticed a knife held out in one of the boy's hands, and prayed that Mercy would arrive swiftly… because at the moment the only weapons he could brag about were his fists. Oh yeah, and that board….

_Thwack! _Wood slammed the board down on knife-boy's hand, and the blade clattered harmlessly to the ground. The other boy used this to his advantage and barreled into Wood from his left, knocking him to the ground breathless. Wood gasped for air and half crawled to the brick wall behind him. His board lay a few feet to the right. Knife-boy kicked it away and reclaimed his knife, cursing as he held it awkwardly in his left hand. Wood stood up with his back against the wall and held out his fists threateningly. The boy who had tackled him leapt forward again, but halted suddenly in mid-air and then went crashing to the ground. Wood had a moment to catch a glimpse of a tall boy, one hand on the boy's collar and the other messing up his face, before he was dodging away from the blade-carrying minion. 

Wood ducked a wild swing, failing to see that the badly-thrown punch was just a distraction. The slash on his right arm would be a harsh reminder for awhile. His left hand immediately came up to clutch at the cut below his shoulder, his eyes glared dangerously at the leering boy, who had backed off for a time. Blood seeped slowly through his fingers. 

His savior from before had finally succeeded in knocking the other out cold, and moved over to join him. 

"Pie-eater," he said between breaths, eyeing the knife-boy. "Manhattan." 

"Thanks for your help," Wood muttered back. Knife-boy yelped as his legs gave out from underneath him. Another Manhattan newsie appeared. 

"Back of the knees," he reported gleefully, holding up Wood's lost board. "Turn's their legs to water. A great effect."

"Hey Mush," Wood nodded, glad to recognize someone. "What's happening over there?" he glanced towards the far end of the alley.

"More people coming in, we're lost if no one else shows," he explained, moving away. Wood and Pie-eater followed closely.

"No one else is here?" Wood asked, glancing around at the shadows. The rain continued to pound relentlessly down. What a night for a confrontation. 

"We sent Swifty to get some Manhattan boys - they'll show. Spot sent that skinny kid…."

"Mouse?"

"Right, to round up Brooklyn people. And apparently Mouse sent someone to get Harlem. It's pretty bad," he finished.

As if to prove his point, a larger group entered from behind the trio. All three turned.

"Shit," Pie-eater whined. "I gotta girl waiting in Manhattan, you know…."

"Yeah, well, this isn't the time to brag Pie!" Mush growled.

"What?! That's not what I m-" he was silenced with a blow to the jaw. Mush managed to trip the one responsible, and Wood moved in to deliver a hard kick in the face. Something cracked.

"Like a fucking assembly line," Pie-eater groaned from the ground. Relieved he wasn't out, Wood lifted the taller boy up from under his arms, giving him enough height to nail the next boy in the forehead. "Damn heavy boots come in handy sometimes," he informed Wood as he was allowed back onto the ground. 

"The sooner Sling gets on a roof, the better," Wood wheezed, searching the building tops for signs of the small marksman. His arm was throbbing horribly and still bleeding. Mush hopped painfully over.

"Yeah, well I think your Sling just broke my toe!" he said, holding up a good sized marble in one hand, his foot in the other. 

"Don't complain to me about it!" Wood raised a hand to alert him of an approaching fist, but the threat was cut short as the boy brought back the hand to press to his head, where blood was trickling sluggishly. He spewed profanity like a hose. Mush spun around and noticed this.

"Complain? Me? I have no idea what you're talking about."

A moment or two later a gold tipped cane pushed the injured boy down, and Spot Conlon appeared to greet them cheerily. 

"Glad you could make it. Wood. Remind me to beat Lion's arse into the ground. Very soon." 

"Only if I can help you. Where _is_ everyone?" 

"Hell if I'd know! Mouse said he'd round them all up."

Grumble, grumble. "Mouse. No wonder."

"I trust him," Spot said simply. As if it answered everything… which it did, really.

"But where's Ruin? Wait, never mind - is that Jack?" Spot dealt out one last whack and then moved away, screaming 'BROOKLYN!' like it was a war cry. 

"Yeah, dat's my trademark move righ' dere," a familiar mocking voice said. Wood didn't have to look to know that it was Racetrack, most likely maiming some poor guy's ability to reproduce. "Not you again," he said, spotting Wood. "But jeez, you look 'orrible!" 

"Thanks, Race," Wood said, noting that the other didn't look to good either. Race couldn't have been there for more than a few minutes, but was already sporting a split lip, bad looking mark on his chin, a developing black eye and an endless array of bruises. 

"Dirty bastards have knives!" he growled, jabbing a finger to his chin. 

"Tell me about it," Wood answered, nodding to his arm. A second later he was on the ground, head spinning and lights dancing before his eyes. 

"Whoops, guess I shoulda told ya about dat guy behind ya instead," Race jeered, hitting the said boy in the knee with some blunt object. He collapsed on top of Wood with a yell. Wood stabbed an elbow upwards, then managed to roll out from under the figure. 

"Hit 'em in the knees," he said, trying to regain the focus in his eyes. "Perfect height for you, eh?"

+

****

End Notes: Sorry it ends so abruptly, but it was starting to get long (and it's starting to get late - 11:20) and I have to leave the rest of the confrontation for the end. -_^

Yeah, these end chapters (except for maybe the next one) are going to be fairly long. There's going to be more fighting coming up, and the conclusion of the day is drawing near. I hope I'm not horrible at writing this fighting stuff. Ark. Only ten chapters to this story, so don't fret, I'll finish writing it soon. In theory. Review! 


	8. Eight Mouse

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents: 

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

****

AN: The end draws near… and aye, have I dropped a lot of hints in this chapter! Ark. I didn't mean for them to be so blatant. -smacks forehead-

****

AN2: YES, when Mouse refers to himself in third person, it's purposeful! (He only does it a few times, but I thought I'd point it out anyway.)

****

This Chapter Sponsored By: Fuel's album "Sunburn." 

__

Chapter Eight. Mouse.

+

Mouse had taken his hat off and was scrunching it up nervously. Every so often he'd stop, stare at it, and then smooth it out. He listened to Wood and Spot's conversation with one ear, something he had grown quite good at. The other ear was taking in bits of Ore and Sling's conversation - he loved listening to those two, they were always so amusing. 

"So, you willing to come along?" Ore was asking.

"You know I would… but… well, Katie ask-" Sling's clearly embarrassed sentence was soon cut off.

"Say no more, my good man," Ore chuckled. "I can get someone else. So, where are you meeting her?"

"Right at Eddie's. I've been saving for dinner." 

"Eddie's? Isn't that right near-"

"Mouse. Come on," Spot appeared in front of Mouse, who squeaked in surprise and jammed his hat back on his head. Conlon was sneaky - small and quiet. Like Mouse, except Conlon didn't have fears and nervousness to hold him back. Mouse walked towards the docks with Spot, straining to hear the last of Ore's sentence, but the distance put him out of earshot. 

"Mousey boy," Spot said, swinging down to a lower dock and settling himself comfortably on a bunched up net. "Boids been talkin' to ya lately?" Mouse glanced around the enclosed space, then swallowed and nodded. His hat reappeared in his hands. If Spot noticed the edgy trait, he didn't show it. "Yeah? What's the news?" 

"Bronx ain't happy," he answered, cringing as his voice cracked. It did that constantly these days. 

"Oh?"

"Yeah, 'specially that Lion. Dunno why." Spot stared reflectively off in to space for a moment, then shrugged.

"Me neither. Maybe he's jealous of me and my water view." Mouse managed a weak smile. "Lion's their new leader." Mouse nodded. "Boy's probably just cocky after his big win, already looking to bigger and better things." Spot shook his head. "Kids these days. Why doesn't he just come out and challenge me?"

"He likes dealing in alleyways better," Mouse answered quickly. Perhaps too quickly? Spots cold gaze flickered up. "Uhm, sneaky like that." he wrung his hat in his hands. "He knows he couldn't beat you in a fair fight," he added hastily. You could almost see Spot's ego inflate as he leaned back with a smirk. 

"True, true. Anything else? You must have something else from roaming the shadows. You were gone for a few days," he pointed out. 

"Uh… well, Manhattan is laying low like usual. Queens is having some internal dispute, but it won't get out of hand," he said, ticking the regions off on his fingers as he talked. "Midtown's in debt with Lower East Side - they aren't happy, and they're trying to get the Battery to help 'em out. Life is normal for everyone else," he finished.

"Yeah? What about Harlem?" Spot asked casually.

"Oh, Harlem, right. Behind us all the way. On the Bronx thing, I mean. Concerned about it. They'll back us up," he told Spot with an earnest nod. Spot studied him closely for a second, then closed his eyes.

"Good," he murmured. "Good." 

"Where are you headed?" Watch's carefully spoken words brought Mouse to a stop. Your average thug, Watch was medium height and very broad, with dark blonde hair in a bowl cut. Though he was undyingly loyal to Spot, the only thing he was really good for was his skill with a club. Mouse knew dogs with more brainpower. 

"Ah…" Mouse pondered for a moment on his words. "the Bronx," he said finally. "To do some spying." Always a safe answer. Watch nodded, apparently satisfied, and went back to staring out on the river. Mouse jogged off without hesitation. There were things to be done. 

+

"I'm not going into all out war with Spot Conlon! What kind of a fool do you think I am?" the boy spat, pacing around the dark room with his head bent and hands jammed into his pockets. 

"That's not what I'm asking of you," Mouse claimed. His hat settled into its familiar position between his hands. "He just wants to know if-"

"Lion?" a new voice interrupted.

"What?" Lion snapped back. True to his name, he had a whole mess of white-blonde curls that sat on a slender frame with stormy blue eyes. Mouse couldn't remember the last time that he had seen the boy in a good mood. 

The owner of the voice slipped in, a stocky figure with a bowler hat that half covered shifty eyes. Lion looked annoyed to see him. 

"You again." 

"Lion, One-eye wants to talk to you."

"Why the hell would I want to talk to One-"

"He isn't happy."

"Shit," Lion grumbled, his pace increasing. "This isn't about-" he cut himself off, eyes jumping to Mouse. Mouse continued to stare down at the floor silently. He looked at the boy again and raised his eyebrows suggestively. The boy nodded.

"Yeah, it is." 

"I told him I'd pay him back!"

"Well, he needs it now." 

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Is he here?"

"Yeah," the boy said, then scuttled out, as if fearing for his life. Mouse wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with a shoulder. A second later Lion appeared in front of him and gripped his shoulders firmly.

"Nobody likes a rat," he hissed, accenting the last word. Mouse could only squeak in reply. "You make me sick," he continued, then half threw, half pushed, him off to the shadows. Mouse hit a wall hard, then rolled to his feet and exited through a side door as fast as he could. He hoped he could get back when Lion was in a better mood, or at least out of debt. 

+

"What did you hear?"

"What does it look like I heard?"

"Looks like you heard a wall."

"Hah. Get me a towel or something? I think it's swelling."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Mouse liked being here. He liked being treated with some sort of respect, even if it was twisted. He knew when he was being manipulated, but he also knew how to work that to his advantage. 

"Sario! Get our guest a towel, hot water if you can find any" the other bellowed. A short Hispanic boy by the door nodded and left. The old wooden chair creaked as the boy - obviously the one in charge - turned back to Mouse. "Well? What did he say? Does he suspect anything?" Mouse relaxed back in his chair, as uncomfortable as it was. Doing so made him look - and feel - important.

"What did who say? Does who suspect anything?" the boy gave him a trying look, then handed him a wet cloth that Sario had returned with. Mouse dabbed it gently above his ear.

"You know who I mean," the boy said, watching Mouse carefully. Sensing he might be pushing it, Mouse started talking.

"Ohh, right," he said casually, taking his time to fold up the cloth and set it on the chair's one arm. "I, uh, had to leave before a definite decision was made… but I'm sure he's in. He needs the… the payoff." The boy nodded, satisfied. 

"He knows everything? Time, location, stuff like that?"

"Everything."

"Same time, right?" the boy's eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"Same time," Mouse confirmed. The boy let out a breath and seemed to relax. 

"Alright… ok… uh, you should probably head out." Mouse nodded and glanced across the room, where drops of moisture were winding tracks through a grime covered window.

It had started to rain.

+

"We're gonna get some money off the Manhattan boys tonight, Mouse," Spot said from his bunk, where we was shuffling cards. "Want in?" Mouse looked down from where he had been, surprise, fiddling with his hat.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure." Spot looked up, startled. This was a first.

"Really?" Mouse nodded. "Ok, I'll deal ya in." he got off the bunk and meandered over to the washroom, where he went on to heckle Sling about his date. Mouse remained where we was, staring at the boards of the bunk above him. A few minutes later Sling hurried out, and Watch appeared in the doorway, with the Manhattaners in tow. _Here goes Mouse's money, _he thought grudgingly. Oh well. It was necessary. 

+

The door to the bunkroom banged open to admit Taffy, a tall, tawny skinned kid. His eyes were wide and he was out of breath. Like the others around the table, Mouse swapped his poker face for one of concern. Spot leapt up, dropping his cards to the floor, and rushed over. 

"Ambushed!" Taffy exclaimed when he could talk. "Someone, I dunno, I think the Bronx. Sling was cornered - it'll be bad - I thought someone needed to warn you!" he sat down heavily on a vacated chair.

"The bastards!" Spot fumed. His glare turned on the Manhattan boys. "You promised-"

"Yeah, hey, we're already there," Skittery stood up, prompting the other boys to do the same. "Swifty, Manhattan?" Swifty fit his hat on his head, looking ready to be off at any moment. Spot glanced to Taffy.

"Will we need them?" Taffy's face flashed with panic, then he regained control and shook his head. 

"No, I don't think so - not if you get more Brooklyn b-"

"Get them anyway," Spot told Swifty, ignoring Taffy. "I'm sure Jack will appreciate it. Think you can make it?" Swifty shrugged. 

"I'll try." And then he was out the door. 

"Mouse, can you get Harlem to come help? And pick up some strays on the way? I want this settled once and for all. Lion isn't gonna mess around with me anymore." there weren't many Brooklynders in the lodging house that night, they must have been out on the streets. Mouse nodded.

"Of course. Let me grab my coat-"

"Just hurry up!" Spot shot, trying to act angry but obviously excited for the coming fight. He hurried down the stairs with the Manhattan boys and a few others that were in the lodging house. Mouse listened to the door at the entrance slam, then dropped his coat back on the bed. Taffy grinned, "out of breath" no longer. Mouse's grin matched his.

"Thanks for the help," he told the older boy. "But do you think Manhattan could be a problem?" Taffy smirked and shook his head.

"They'll never get there in time," he said confidently, then gathered up the cards and dealt them out again, two piles. "Wanna play?"

"Yeah, sure, what're we playing?" Mouse picked up his pile and put down the top card. "How 'bout…. War." 

+

****

End Note: I know in the chapter before this one, Ore asks Swifty if the kid who told them about the fight was Mouse, and Swifty says "I guess." That means there's a chance it wasn't. Which was verified in this chapter. Just in case anyone thought I was, uh, -glances around- switching stuff around. I wasn't! It's all purposeful!


	9. Nine Ruin

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

****

AN: Almost done almost done almost doooone! -gets ready to pop cork from champagne- oh… whoops - well, not done just yet.

****

This Chapter Sponsored By: Fuel's album "Something Like Human." Wow, listening to it continuously really did help me!

__

Chapter Nine. Ruin.

+

Ruin ran blindly, skidding every few feet on the slick cobblestones, the heavy rain obstructing his vision to an annoying degree. Every so often he'd hear faint noises, muffled voices, though the origin of these sounds he could only guess. The current weather did strange things to all of your senses. He trudged out of another empty alley, realizing with dismay that in these conditions, he could only hope to find Spin and her captors if he stumbled into them by accident. Without thinking his hand reached to touch a knife hidden in his sleeve, but not even the silent reassurance of the cool steel could comfort him.

A shrill scream erupted from ahead, its sudden noise shaking the grim quiet. The spark of hope lit in Ruin's heart was quickly doused by the cold water of realization. There are not many things a scream can mean. Without hesitation he was off again, sprinting through the streets to whatever dangers lay beyond.

+

More drops sprang unbidden to Spin's eyes, though she could've sworn her tears were over. She sat slumped against a wall in a small back lot, all thoughts of escape banished by the man blocking the entrance. He was trying to light a cigarette, a lost cause in the weather. Spin still wasn't sure why they had stopped, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the other man searching for something, stumbling among the boxes, crates, and broken glass with muttered curses. The first man gave up his fight with a match and turned his attention to Spin, studying her with unchecked hunger in his eyes. Spin curled up tighter and retreated inside herself, only paying attention to her surroundings with half an eye, half an ear. The other, hunting, stranger seemed to find what he was looking for. 

"Got it," he said triumphantly. The other shifted by his post.

"Did it get wet? Did the ink run?" he asked worriedly. 

"No, no, it's all fine." He showed it to the other for confirmation.

"Ok. Mail it then, and let's be off," he growled, hoisting Spin up roughly. "I'm cold and hungry." 

Before he slipped the letter beneath his rough jacket, Spin managed to catch a glimpse of the slightly-smeared writing on the front - the address said:

__

James Ferns

1486 Mine W.

Concord, NH

Her jaw dropped and she stumbled in her surprise, earning a curse and harder pull on her wrist. Immediately a thousand questions swam around her head, but they all contained the same realization.

__

James Ferns… James Ferns… My brother?

They had only just mailed the letter when suddenly the grip on her wrist faltered. Spin snapped out of her trance and turned to see her captor, see if there was now a chance of getting away. What she saw instead was much worse, the man lay sprawled out on his back on the cobblestones, his neck heavily bruised, the rain washing away the last traces of blood and froth from his mouth. Unable to stop herself, Spin fell to her knees and screamed. 

+

Mercy growled and clamped a hand over Spin's mouth, then forced her head up so her frightened eyes could see him. The fear there softened a little with recognition, but she still couldn't seem to draw her eyes away from the grotesque sight in front of her. He pulled her up and turned her away, glaring in the direction that the other man had fled in. After catching a glimpse of Spin while en route to Eddie's, and the fight beyond. Knowing Ruin's sanity may never be the same if he lost his girl, Mercy had followed her closely, only striking when the time came, and they were distracted. Still, he had let one escape. 

He spat on the street, then removed the short gun from where it had appeared in the man's hand and weighed it before slipping it inside his vest. It was never safe to carry such objects around, but still, the chance that it could come in handy was present. He turned back to Spin.

"What were they mailing?" 

Spin was silent, still a bit shaky on her feet, her breath rattling out.

"I… I'm not sure," she admitted finally. "But… it was addressed to my brother!" 

Mercy studied her intently.

"Brother?"

"Yes, he… I thought he went out west, you know, to find his fortune… but… it appears that now he's in New England." 

"Left to find his fortune, eh?" Mercy asked, trying to keep the girl distracted as he walked away, continuing on his former journey. She trailed behind slowly.

"At the time my mother had just become sick," she explained, gaining confidence as the memories came back. "He wanted to help out with the costs, so he left to find a job - he still sends some money, but there was never any return address." 

"Ah. Did you know those men?" 

"No. Never even seen them until this day."

"So," Mercy concluded thoughtfully, "you're kidnapped by strange men, who then send a mysterious letter to your brother - who in turn has been sending you _money._" He paused. "I don't think it takes someone used to life in the business to figure that out, Spin." 

She said nothing, obviously not fitting the pieces together. Mercy sighed.

"Ransom, woman! Ever think about that?" 

Spin's eyes widened in horror.

"Ransom? But who would ever want me for ransom?" 

Mercy shrugged.

"Don't ask me. Who know what your brother is involved in up there. Could be something dangerous - not all earn their money honestly," he said, voice turning bitter at his last words. Spin risked a side glance, then left him in his respective silence. Did Mercy really ever have regrets about his lifestyle? At this moment, it seemed so.

The moment was short lived, however, ending when Spin spotted Ruin, catching his breath against a brick wall. Ruin, alerted by the movement near him, glanced up, his face breaking into a wide grin. 

"Spin!" then, a moment later, "Mercy!" 

"Always second best," Mercy grumbled with a wink to Spin. She blinked, surprised by his sudden change of mood, then dismissed it and ran into Ruin's arms. He wrapped rain soaked limbs around her, pulling her close, kissing her hair. 

"What happened?" he asked breathlessly.

"I still don't know," she said, trying to be strong but faltering, an exhausted quiver entering her voice. "I just… then… well, Mercy -" she stopped, realizing she had yet to thank the boy, but as she broke from Ruin's hold and turned, she saw that he was no longer there. 

"There's a fight," Ruin explained dully from behind her. "Nothing's going to keep him from that."

"What about you?" she asked, spinning back around. There was no way she wanted him to be part of this 'fight,' but that wasn't her decision, so she spoke anyway. "Why aren't you there? Why aren't you going there now?!" she demanded.

"I can't leave you!" he said firmly. "Not again."

"When was the first time?" 

Silence.

"Ruin, it sounds like they need you," she said quietly. Her words were based on guess work, but from the look on his face, they seemed to speak the truth. "I can get home. You have to help."  
"No," he protested. "It's too far, there's no way in hell I'm letting you walk the streets alone. I wouldn't let you any night, and tonight it's even more dangerous," he said. 

Spin didn't protest, she knew he was right - and walking home would be the last thing she'd want to do anyway. A second option was suddenly apparent.

"Heart's flat!" she said. "It's much closer, a block or two away. I can go there!" Ruin looked doubtful. 

"How do you know she'll be there?" he asked, remembering her past history. After a beat, he added, "never mind, she'll be there." He doubted any sane person would be out in this weather. Now the wind was picking up too. Still he hesitated. "Are you sure you-"

"Yes," Spin interrupted, determination sparking in her eyes. "It's not far. Please… they need you," she nodded in the direction she and Mercy had been headed. Ruin opened his mouth to speak, but Spin just reached a hand up and closed it, pleading silently. He moved a wet curl of hair from her forehead in silent response, then turned and left quickly, not giving himself any chance to look back… if he looked back - he'd turn back. 

Spin watched him go, waiting until his form was lost in the rain before turning around herself and moving off, trying to shake the feeling of dread that had taken root in her heart.

+

****

End Notes: First of all, apologies for the confusion with Spin's brother… he's always been a character (well, ever since I made up profiles for all of the characters) but I completely forgot to mention him in previous chapters… leaving me annoyed because now it seems like he just popped up for convenience. Did I mention her last name before? Gah I hope so.

Well! One more chapter to go! Oh man!


	10. Ten End Watch

**__**

Free Companies Inc. Presents:

Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

****

AN: Woo hoo. Laaast chapter! Three chapters in less than ten days? -faints- this is unbelievable. For me. The… erm… -glances up- procrastinator. Never mind the fact that I'm putting off two huge school projects just to write this - that's beside the point!

****

Story-wide disclaimer: Newsies, are owned by Disney (in theory). Though I really don't use many newsies, do I? All other, unrecognizable characters were created by me, and therefore… yeah. Etc. 

****

End Note: Yes, I've been planning on a sequel for a bit now. It's not going to be written in this same format (thank God!). Also, if anybody wants to be in it… feel free to just ask. Falco has a, um… interesting role in the next story (though I refuse to tell her what). And… yeah. Looking forward to writing it. More Ruin-ness!

****

Annnd, lastly… Thank you SO much to Falco, Misprint and Ali for faithfully reviewing every chapter (I think). -bows- youse ROCK! And to Sid with her oh-so-nice-make-me-feel-fuzzy-reviews, and of course, to Mondie, Anna Belle, Frenchy, Ribelle, Yoli, Derby, Abbe-chan, Naeth, Fearless, Kathryn and Gypsy for contributing reviews as well. WOO! 

Last chapter. Only thing left is a short, short, epilogue. Enjoy. Review. Get me a bagel because I'm REALLY in the mood for one.

__

Chapter Ten. Watch.

+

"The same goes for you," Spot said, the smirk on his face even entering into his voice. Watch leaned casually on his club - really just a short, thick pole - and studied the confused group down on the ground, his face void of any emotion. Luckily they had caught up to Sling before his attackers had made any moves. Behind him Watch could hear the Manhattan newsies talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Really, they had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it was too late to back out. Besides, they had made a promise. Only the foolish broke promises like that, especially when they were with Brooklyn…

A slight commotion at one end of the alley broke out, distracting those below long enough for Spot to shoot off a marble - the first shot… it had begun then. Watch gave a satisfied grunt and worked his way with the Manhattaners to the back of the building, where they had climbed up. He was no good with a sling… but a club, well that was a different story. Gripping one end of the wood comfortably, he dropped the rest of the way down, half listening to the yelps of pain heard as the other Brooklyners let loose with their slingshots. 

Immediately after entering the alley, Mush and Pie-eater darted to the other end, where Watch could see Wood's familiar blonde hair shining dully in the rain. He swiped a free hand over his eyes, trying to rid of the ever dripping water, then crossed the space to Sling, attempting to steer clear of marbles as he did so. 

Sling stood pressed flat against a wall, fear shining in his eyes, helpless without his sling. Watch caught up just as one boy broke the circle and moved towards the Sling, knuckles braced and ready. Sling held an arm up in front of his face and tried unsuccessfully to melt into the wall. Sticking his leg out and twisting it sharply, Watch brought the boy down and then kneeled on his back, keeping him down before a light hit to the back of the head knocked him cold. Sling sagged in relief as he recognized the burly boy, but kept glanced over his shoulders as he approached Watch, paranoia striking deep.

"Where can I go? To get up high?" he asked breathlessly. Watch heard a noise and swung out until his fist connected with something - followed by a moan.

"Behind, that way," Watch told him, pointing. "Fire escape should work."

Sling nodded his thanks and dashed off, only to be replaced by Skittery, who was swearing profusely. Watch backed up and joined him against a wall, looking around nervously, trying to spot where their attackers had disappeared to. With them all wearing black, and the clouds and rain obscuring the moon, sight was a trying thing. He had no idea how the slingers on the roof were finding their targets.

"Broken," Skittery was saying, his voice a mess of anger, though a trace of fear could be present as well. Watch chanced a glance over. Obviously he was supposed to answer.

"What is? What happened?" he asked slowly. Skittery attempted to flex his left wrist and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. 

"I can't move it," he said weakly. "Damn… that hurts." 

Watch ignored him and instead focused on the opposite wall, where an occasional shadow of movement could be spotted. Holding his club out in front of him protectively, the boy abandoned his position at the wall and moved forward slowly, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Behind him, Skittery rattled out another round of curses.

"Shit! There's more people coming -" his sentence was cut short by his own shout of pain. Watch made the mistake of looking back, hoping to see if the taller boy was ok. Immediately something slashed out at him, leaving a white hot line of agony that started from behind his ear, then traveled down and dug deeper at the side of his neck. He cried out, though more in surprise than anything, and spun back around, swinging his club like a baseball bat. The wood connected and crunched solidly, and a form fell against Watch's legs, forcing him to the ground as well. Watch grunted and rolled the body off of his legs, trying not to look, but the image was there anyway: chips of bone, rain and blood mingling and flowing freely from the boy's face, an impossible dent in his forehead. Watch slid back and then stood up, looking at his club with new horror. What were they doing? Kids weren't supposed to… they were never supposed to… kill. 

He drew in a deep breath, wincing as his throat and neck objected harshly, a rough reminder that the blood slowly covering his shirt was his own. Still backing away from the scene, he almost tripped over Skittery, who was laying curled up, receiving blows without any protest. He couldn't move. Without thinking Watch raised his club again, whacking Skittery's attacker on the temple hard enough to force the boy back a few steps before he collapsed. Watch reached down and gripped Skittery's hand, about to pull him up when a horrid thought finally entered his brain. _Skittery wasn't reacting. Skittery isn't moving. Skittery isn't getting up. _

Watch knelt down in an almost panicked state and rolled Skittery over, and thankfully, the boy was breathing. No, not breathing - coughing, horrible spasms that wracked his whole body, he managed to spit out a few teeth before emptying his stomach on the stones, breathing heavily while the rain washed it away. He grit his teeth as Watch helped him up, then stood on shaky legs and tried to avoid touching fresh bruises. 

"Those boys," he rasped to Watch, disbelief and horror etched clearly on his features. "What the hell are they doing? This ain't no alley fight, they don't wanna soak us," he stopped, doubling over to throw up again, then caught his breath and wiped his good arm across his mouth. "They want to kill us!"

+

Watch couldn't think of a time that he had been happier to see Jack Kelly. The boy was everywhere, wreaking havoc with his pummeling fists and sharp words. Watch remembered how they had sent the other boy, Swifty, to alert Manhattan. He couldn't believe the kid had gone so fast. It boggled the mind. 

But Manhattan had only been there for ten minutes or less when the opposing force just… pulled out. With Manhattan's arrival they had been losing their advantage, true, but that was obviously not the reason for their retreat. Watch caught Spot's attention as the lithe boy jumped from the stack of crates he had been perched on.

"What's happening?" he asked, putting a hand against the nearest wall to steady himself. More loss of blood…

"Lion!" Spot spat, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I saw him and that damned hair of his!"

"Bronx," Watch agreed.

"But didn't we already know that?" Jack emerged, wiping blood away from his mouth and squinting slightly through a swollen eye.

"Yeah, we knew it," Spot said. "So why are they pulling out?" 

The rest of the group gathered around their two leaders, each quietly nursing their bruises and cuts, some more serious than others, a few with barely a scratch - those being the boys who had stayed on the roof, and Ruin and Mercy, who had only shown up minutes before. Spot scratched dried blood off from the skin under his eye and peered through the rain to the other end of the alley, where more shadowy shapes began to take form and get bigger.

"Aw, gee," Racetrack groaned from where he crouched on the ground. Spot's jaw opened a fraction wider.

"Bronx pulled out," he repeated. "So who's _that_?" 

"And where's Harlem?" Ruin's bitter voice was heard. "Where's Mouse with Harlem?!"

"They'll come," Spot assured him. "They've always come through for us." 

"Who _is_ that?" and questions similar echoed through the bunch.

"Where the hell did Bronx get so many extras?" Gambler's voice was a mix of surprise, doubt, and fear. Spot heard these emotions and turned angrily.

"What, you don't think we can take 'em?" 

Gambler met his gaze coolly. 

"I never said that, Spot," he told his leader calmly. 

"Let's just leave it with what we know," Mercy snapped. "Harlem ain't coming and the Bronx is bigger than we thought." 

Watch glanced over, studying Mercy intently - for some reason his hand kept traveling to his vest, as if touching it for reassurance. Watch never knew the older boy had any 'lucky' clothing, but it was certainly possible. 

Silence stretched on, one group of boys standing hunched over in the rain, soaked through, both their bodies and minds warped. The second group making their way steadily towards the other, determination and confidence stamped on their faces. If one had looked out on these events, perhaps from a window, or a shop nearby, they may have just smiled and shook their heads, chuckling at the antics of 'kids these days.' Or maybe they'd do the opposite, sigh sadly and turn away, not allow their eyes to watch the unfolding events, while inside they cried at the cruelties of 'kids these days.' 

The new attackers didn't hesitate, once they were inside the cramped alley way they charged forward, shouting threats and insults as they approached their silent victims. 

Mercy found his hand at his vest again and quickly brought it down. He had seen the brutality of the former boys, and if this new crowd was anything like that, he didn't know how anyone would survive the night without permanent injuries… or worse. And if his plan, a new idea quickly taking shape in his mind - if it was to work, he knew he couldn't tell anyone. 

He looked over at Ruin, who had slid a knife out from his sleeve. Mercy followed suit, gripping the handle of his small blade tightly and watching the rain splash off the metal with some sort of detached fascination. 

The people nearest to the Bronx boys had broken from the rest of the group and ran towards them as well, screaming challenges with hoarse voices. They were tired, yes, but nothing would stop them from defending the one place they could call home.

_And is that what all this fighting is about?_ Mercy's thoughts commanded more of his attention. _A piece of land? Is it even that? Or just an excuse for a fight? _He mused, staring thoughtfully into his warped reflection of his blade. Standing there, feeling the rain drum on his shoulders and sluice down his back, he remembered again the realization he had made years ago. The realization that had landed him in this business, a business of mercenaries and false enemies, false friends, false fights. Which side was he fighting for? The good side or the bad side? And if he won, would that mean it was the good side? Because good always wins? No.

__

There is no evil. There is no good. No black, no white. Only a thousand shades of gray in between. 

+

Ruin spat gravel from his mouth, hating the gritty texture on his tongue, and rolled to his feet, standing to face his adversity again. The boy - damn, though he didn't look like a boy, he was so big - stood there mockingly, a knife in one hand, crude wooden board in the other. Already twice had Ruin been fooled by his tactics, he feinted with his knife, and when Ruin moved to answer, he found himself on the ground, hit soundly with the board. But no longer, he would make the first move this time. Switching his own knife deftly to his other hand, Ruin stepped forward, not even bothering to shake away his bangs from where they lay plastered over his eyes. He raised his knife hand to strike, and noticed with horror the way his opponent's eyes flashed past his shoulder, behind him. Still in mid movement, Ruin could do nothing as he felt a blade's edge cut deep into his shoulder, hitting bone and barely stopping there. 

With a cry he hit the ground hard, jerking again as the blade was yanked free. On his other side, a heavy boot slammed into his side, knocking the breath from his lungs and hitting his ribs sharply. Ruin gasped for air - it was hopeless, there were so many, and they were so tired. If Harlem didn't come…

A crack as the boot hit again, this time connecting solidly with his ribs. Ruin's fingers scrabbled for his knife as he fought to get up, but was forced back down. He finally managed to roll over on his back, shouting as his shoulder rubbed against the dirt, the gash exploding with new pain. He gave up trying to move the arm that shoulder was attached to, and instead clutched his knife with his other hand, his left, his weaker - but only slightly. Cautiously he backed up, the knife held out in front of him with a quivering arm, spitting blood every few feet until he hit against a wall. But he couldn't escape his attackers and their leers, their jeers. _There is no escape._

It didn't take long for Mercy to find who he was looking for. Standing in the shadows, away from the action, directing most of his minions with a few shouted commands, though few of them need any direction. He knew this boy must be the district leader, he carried himself with the same kind of air that Spot Conlon did, the confident, all-important kind of thing. But Mercy wasn't prepared to see _who_ the leader was - until he turned to face Mercy's direction, and both of their faces mirrored surprise. 

Mercy recovered first. He quickly crossed the remaining steps and grabbed the boy's upper arm, drawing him close while his other hand whipped the gun he had stolen from Spin's captors and rested the barrel to the side of his head. Mercy didn't waste any time or breath exchanging comments and insults.

"Call them off," he hissed. The boy swallowed nervously, his eyes rolling up in an attempt to see the gun that could kill him at a moment's notice. With Mercy's attention focused on his face, the boy's free hand moved behind his back, where he flashed a signal. A moment later the hand dropped back to his side.

"What do you want me to say?" he demanded to Mercy.

"Something," Mercy said back. "Anything." 

The boy shuddered and drew a deep breath, knowing better than to argue.

"PULL BACK!" he bellowed. Many of the attackers stopped, confused, but a few saw his situation and did pull back, guarding themselves warily as they began to filter out of the alley. 

"Again," Mercy ordered.

"PULL BACK!" he shouted again, his voice cracking as it started to go hoarse. And still the two remained in the shadows. "Now let me go," he said quietly. Mercy reluctantly drew the gun from his head, then dropped his arm. The boy rubbed at his arm, where he would find finger shaped bruises the next morning. Then he looked up at Mercy and just sneered. Mercy didn't have time to react before a heavy club slammed into the back of his skull, tossing him head over heels to the ground. Completely surprised by the action, his finger jerked, pulling the trigger sharply. The leader and his only remaining minion fled.

Still unsure of why the boys had suddenly been called back, and just as suddenly had left, Wood leaned against a wall, appreciating what rest he could get. Then a heavy 'whack' was heard only moments later, immediately followed by a gunshot. Those remaining in the alley froze, their eyes wide and mouths gaping. 

The next few minutes were full of confusion and chaos. Bells and alarms sounded as the cops rushed in. Anyone who could move fled the scene as fast as they could, those who were stuck on the ground, whether injured, unconscious, or worse, were not so lucky, and were quickly scooped up by the police. Hurrying back to Brooklyn's lodging house, one small boy, Rocky, managed to relay information to Spot.

"I know why they pulled back!" he gasped. "Mercy had their leader at gunpoint-"

"Who was their leader?"

"I couldn't see!" Rocky admitted, ashamed. "But when Mercy let him go, they did something, took the gun and shot him, I think. That's what the gunshot was…. I couldn't see very well," he added cautiously. Spot groaned and helped support Mush, who had sprained his ankle. 

"The only person that knows who is attacking us," he said, his voice filled with bitterness. "Is the one laying cold in the alley," for Rocky was right, and Spot hadn't seen Mercy among the escaping newsies. But there were many, so many, that he hadn't seen. He could only hope that the bulls helped them heal up, instead of the other way around. As they approached the docks, the wind picked up and blew the clouds away from the moon, offering a soft glow that reflected radiantly in the many puddles occupying the city.

And the rain let up.

+


	11. Eleven Epilogue

Dawn broke into a thousand jagged pieces, blood red and soft pink mingling to surround an unearthly orange, each one struggling valiantly to break through the thick clouds that continued to cover New York City. Peter Morinstal lay sprawled on the docks of the Hudson River, half conscious and forcing swollen eyes open. The soft sound of breathing alerted him to another's presence. Rolling over on the stiff boards, Ruin gathered himself painfully into a crouching position and focused his blurry vision on the intruder. Jack Kelly stared back, a split lip and fresh array of bruises contributing to an already intimidating figure. Ruin grunted, speech beyond him.

"Where's Spot?" the Manhattan newsie demanded. Ruin swallowed a few times, the same question registering in his own mind. 

"I… I dunno. What's the problem?" Ruin recalled the past night's events and added "this time?" Jack looked past him and at the bridge, obviously troubled. 

"Blink isn't back yet."

"Eh?"

"He went to Harlem. Three days ago."

+ + +

__

End.


End file.
